I Felt Pressure, When I Was Younger

Focus! The burden of destructive emotions constantly tarnishes my brain. It is essential that I isolate myself from the pessimistic chain of thoughts. I need to distort myself from the daily trauma and everlasting misery that I encounter. The turmoil has left me forever fatigued and has numbed my mind. My heart is grazed and broken with regret, my soul is haunted by fear and guilt along with my body diseased and rotten. The experience has been morbid and excruciating, I can’t tolerate this anymore.

I have never been one to excel under intense pressure. Though throughout my entire life there has been an ever-present yet latent pressure to do well in my academics and somewhat excel socially, the moments where all is on the line are when I have been unable to perform to the extent of my ability. And, this knowledge I have about myself, instead of encouraging me to “do better next time” and “use the past as a learning experience,” - as many of my coaches and mentors have told me - simply works to build a level of nervousness nearly impossible for me to overcome.

Brosh’s first post on depression, “Adventures in Depression”, describes the grueling progression into apathy she experienced. She makes reference to the obscurity in cause of her depression by saying “Some people have a legitimate reason to feel depressed, but not me. I just woke up one day feeling sad and helpless for absolutely no reason.” Brosh goes on to counteract this, stating “It’s disappointing to feel sad for no reason. Sadness can be almost pleasantly indulgent when you have a way to justify it – you can listen to sad music and imagine yourself as the protagonist in a dramatic movie.” The oscillation Brosh presents by sharing her nonsensical depression and contrasting it with more typical sadness demonstrates how grave her situation is while presenting the audience with a humorous observation to laugh at. Brosh has no source to try and end the depression she is feeling, since there is no particularly valid reason she began to feel it. This predicament leaves Brosh rather powerless, causing her struggle to be arduous and long. She describes her attempts to snap herself out of depression by being self-deprecating, a process that backfires. Brosh claims “The self-loathing and shame had ceased to be even slightly productive, but it was too late to go back at that point, so I just kept going. I followed myself around like a bully, narrating my thoughts and actions with a constant stream of abuse.” Despite the harshness of this behavior, Brosh creates humor in the way

I breathed in the after rain smell. It must have rained the night before but I hadn’t seen it so I wasn’t aware that it would be wet. As I strolled onto the sidewalk and began my route to school I stomped on the wet, fallen leaves. I walked about a half mile each day to get to Florence Nightingale High school , or as I liked to call it, my daily prison. It was a good high school but it was still a high school. The usual American high school is full of people who are unsure of themselves and because of their un-surety, they feel the need to others down. Now take those people and add in an over-confident deaf girl into the mix and that's my every day. I am extra isolated but that’s fine by me. I really don’t care what they say about me. It's not like I can hear it

“Why does everyone look at me like I’m the cause of their problems, when people pass me, why does it seem like they hate me automatically?” I continued my rant for several more minutes, asking a seemingly endless number of whys. Why does this happen followed by why do I feel like this etcetera etcetera. The world stayed frozen, apparently stunned by my sudden outburst, he opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. I shook my head and wiped the tears that betrayed my command to stay at bay; I stood up, not caring what the world thought of me because it obviously couldn’t answer my question. I walked out of the coffee shop and away from the world knowing that the chances of me never getting an answer to my questions was pretty

I don't feel the need to do something I normally wouldn't do just because people I know are doing it. The pressure I do feel is not meeting up to my peers academically and on their mental health. I feel like lagging behind is a sign of failure so I have to push to meet them. It seems like while I am having a mental breakdown every month they are gliding through life easily. Holinka explains “,,,students reporting high stress levels experienced lower life satisfaction, and vice versa” (302). It’s unnerving to think how much stress is affecting me mentally, but knowing its effects does nothing to help. I just want to have the same self-assurance on life that my peers exude. I also understand that I only see the image they present to me and they could be dealing with something far worse. Yet, I still place that pressure on myself to meet a standard I assume everyone else is

I tried to blink in my tears, because the last thing I wanted was to end up crying like a loser on the first day of school. "Mom, I'll be fine.". I certainly was not fine. I was anything, but fine. I took a long, deep breath as my eyes met the sight of Johnson, an enormous school with kids bustling in and out like bees. I knew I was in for something big, but big doesn't always mean better, right? Time was ticking by, and I had an obnoxious feeling luring in my stomach, worse than any type of butterflies. I turned on my music, completely redid my hair and started tapping on the dashboard with my nails. Oh gosh, I literally was doing everything to get my mind off going to school. However, that became quite impossible when my mom stopped the car in front of the main entrance of high school. I was so close to pinching myself, hoping that this was some messed up dream. But it was, unfortunately, reality. After observing a bit, I couldn't help but laugh at the diversity of all the kids that were walking in. Some were jumping with joy, others laughing for what seemed to me no apparent reason, and some who hunched as they sluggishly walked

It was the first month of my high school years, I was as nervous as an incoming freshman could be. I had no idea how long and strenuous my years at Bensalem High School would feel. As many others, I had a hard time adjusting to the transition from middle school to high school. Unlike others, though, I struggled about twenty

I have to be perfect. The pressure to perform academically and be a model citizen envelopes me in my everyday life. Although no one else makes me feel as though there is a standard that I am required to live by, I push myself to hard, resulting in me feeling too confined and trapped. When I was in elementary school, my classes were too easy for me, and I often got near-perfect report cards,. I excelled compared to my peers, and being a teacher’s pet certainly helped me gain good marks. When I transitioned into high school, I was suddenly average. Smarter kids from smarter schools took smarter classes. In my teachers’ eyes, I was just an extra body that they hoped would pass their class so that they could check a box and have a paycheck

I went downstairs to retrieve my phone that I had forgotten in my coat pocket. "Have you eaten yet?" My mother asked without looking up from the pile of dishes she was washing. "There's some leftover chicken Alfredo in the fridge." I shuffled to my coat and searched for it among the scraps of paper in my pocket. I pulled out a baby blue index card. On it read, in my cursive handwriting, "Our Generation has had no Great war, no Great Depression. Our war is spiritual. Our depression is our lives. -Chuck Palahniuk." I pushed it back in, and grabbed my phone. "No thanks, I’m not hungry." I started make my way up the steep stairs. "How much homework do you have tonight?" I peered back, to where the huge stack of papers sat, grounded by the textbook on top. "I'll take care of it," I muttered as I went back and scooped up the school work and ventured off to my room. My German Shepard puppy, Willow, was laying on my bed waiting for me. I dropped the pile of new work onto the pile I have been neglecting for some time now. I flicked off my light, and set my alarm, and went to bed. But, not to sleep. For, all my nights are sleepless, but not

It is extremely likely that everyone has had something that challenges them to the point of feeling like giving up. Ever since the first grade, I have experienced feelings of failure due to my disorganization. I felt inadequate when comparing my performances to other students my age. In my case, disorganization meant turning in late work, frustrating my teachers, and making awful grades.

A 7th-grade girl lost and confused in the middle school, not knowing where to go. People were passing her by, and no one seemed to help her. She was nervous to talk to the

I could scarcely believe that the time had already come. It seemed like just yesterday that I walked into high school for the first time freshman year, along with new hundreds of new faces that seemed to be watching but in reality were just as

I was standing in the lunch line waiting for pizza, and a blank stare encompassed my face as I got lost in the deep abyss of my thoughts;It felt as though I was viewing myself in the third person. Although I was surrounded by people, I felt completely alone, knowing that others weren’t experiencing this. I struggled to associate with anyone near me because I couldn’t fathom the people and events around me. I felt as though I was a zoologist observing chimpanzees. The girls were staring at their phones, loudly smacking gum, gossiping about which of their ‘friends’ is ugly, and what parties they would be going to this weekend. In this moment, it was hard for me to understand why someone would waste time talking about such trivial and insignificant topics. Other people I looked at, however, I thought to myself about unfortunate events that could be happening in their life, their aspirations, and their internal dialogue. I then thought about how all humans are the same, in a lot of ways, yet completely different at the same time. In that moment I was completely in touch with reality. It was only about a ten minute wait in the lunch line, but it felt like a lifetime. The moment came out of nowhere, and I after it I was determined to make changes to improve my

I dislike it when this happens because I get compared to the oldest because it makes me feel that I am not worthy of things I cannot handle. I also despise it when I end up laying in bed thinking, about how my parents don 't understand me. I wish that if I 'd be perfect that there would be no difficulties in my life. This leads me to stress that interferes with my school and daily life. When I feel this I get distracted and drawn attention to how I can make myself a better person. I sometimes shed a tear because I feel like I have no one to talk to without having the word spread. I also think why do my feelings even matter, I mean clearly, no one thought about it. I also think what can perfection even do for me. Why do I need it? So I have recognized that my obstacles connect with the need for perfection.