Essay on sexual dysfunction

4576 Words19 Pages
Instead of focusing on all that’s wrong with your life, write down all the good things you have going for you. The more you think about it, the more good things you’ll find. Seek solace through these good things in your life, and you’ll soon stop feeling miserable and sad. Tell yourself that “this too shall pass” – this is my favorite quote, and at the slightest hint of sadness or trouble, I tell myself that this too shall pass and all will be well with my world again. I just need to ride out the storm and wait for the calm to envelop me again. Realize that there are others who are in worse positions than you are, and that you are better off than many people in the world. This makes your problems seem trivial and you’re shamed out of…show more content…
My initial reaction was that such a book was the last thing I wanted to write. As someone who has suffered from depression since he was a teen, I was afraid that writing about that illness might well sink me into a dark place from which it would be difficult to climb out. But only a few moments after Cheryl asked, I found myself not only agreeing wholeheartedly to do it, but believing that this may well be the very book I was meant to write. I’m not exactly sure when the first bout of depression came. The earliest episode that comes to mind was soon after my adoptive father died, when I was thirteen-years old. Charlie Stork died instantaneously when he crashed his 1965 Rambler station wagon into the concrete pillar of a railroad overpass. We were living in the small town of Alpine,Texas, located somewhere between El Paso and San Antonio. I’m an only child and my mother had gone to Mexico to care for her gravely-ill father. Charlie and I were living in a dilapidated house in the poorest section of town. Our trailer had been repossessed a couple of months earlier for failure to make the monthly payments. Photo courtesy of rellim ( As hard at the grief of losing my father was, it was still better than the debilitating depression that came a few months after his death. I was living at that time with Father Martinez, a priest and old family friend. (My mother had to return to Mexico to care for my grandfather.)
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