How to stay away from depression.

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Self-Help and Tips

Some of you might be looking at this title and rolling your eyes with disgust. Yes, I know, clinical depression doesn’t just stay away. It’s a mental illness. People live their whole life battling it- that sure has been the case for me.  Although there’s no perfect potion to keeping the dark trenches of depression out of your life I’ve accumulated a short list of things that have personally helped suppress my depression and keep it there.

1. Take supplements and vitamins
Supplements are a multibillion-dollar market. Don’t believe everything you read and do your research before you buy into all the wrong scams. Anyways, try them out. I find that my mood stays significantly lifted when I stay consistent with these two products.

What I use:

  •   Omega 3s (Fish Oil)- Two main sources of evidence have proved fish oil to be effective in treating depression. One being that individuals with depression have been shown to have lower levels of this stuff, along with countries that eat the most fish per capita having lower rates of depression. I take a 1,000 mg soft gel a day.
  • Vitamin B-6- This vitamin is vital for many brain functions, especially the manufacturing of serotonin. Good sources include meat and fish, whole-grain flour, sunflower seeds, and lentils. I like consuming it in a 100 mg vitamin once daily.

2. Job hunt for hobbies

I’m always baffled by how many people I’ll come across that simply don’t have a hobby. Hobbies not only keep you entertained and stimulated, but provide purpose. It doesn’t have to be some crazy natural talent. In fact you can start a new hobby now (well after reading this post first of course). I used to spend countless hours scrolling through websites on hobby ideas. My interests were burning out and I was yearning for more. Once I found a few potential hobbies I dove head first, building from the bottom up. Exposing yourself to new hobbies and sticking to them kept my depression on the back burner.

3. Facetime friends

Kind of specific I know, but steer away from communicating through text. Instead of spending the night messaging a couple friends, video chat a close one. Talking to a person face to face is so much more intimate. Facetiming can be super awkward at first, but I swear it gets more natural the more you do it.

4. Stay present in Nature

It’s literally proven that being outside elevates your mood. Wether you believe it or not, nature really does give off energy. Every tree, flower, and piece of grass provides us with the oxygen we need to survive. I make sure to take some time out of each day to spend in nature. I use this time to disconnect and stay as present as possible. I focus on all the life around me. Really puts my own into perspective.

5. Don’t set yourself up

We’ve all got situations that we know make us uncomfortable. Wether it’s a social situation such as a house party or time alone on a stormy night, everyone’s got certain scenarios that bring them down. Stay clear of these times as much as possible. If you know you won’t enjoy that big party, don’t go. If you know that stormy night will make you feel lonely, plan an alternative ahead of time. I knew drinking triggered my suicide ideation, so I stayed completely sober for almost a year and a half. I was cautious to not set myself up for situations where I’d feel isolated or pressured.



Life Of The Party

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Narrative Writing

The Outside

“Hold on guys, Grant’s calling.” Esther turns the music down and answers the call right away.
We all sit there, eyes gleaming towards one another as her ear sits pressed tight to the phone.
“Ok sounds like a plan. We’ll be there soon.”
End call.
Esther throws her phone back into her purse and turns the volume back up. We all look to her for a response, but she swings her body up out of the sunroof instead. The Hispanic hip hop thumping through the speakers barely drowns out her roaring screams. She’s got her hands up over her head and long blonde hair flying free. As free as I’m feeling sitting in the back seat of the Honda cooper with my sister right beside. She’s smiling at my failing attempts at rolling an ‘R’ as I smile back because hers is contagious. Marta belts out lyrics from the drivers seat, one hand stretched out through the window above us.
A boy of around five foot nine with red hair greets us outside the house. His eyes appear quite glassy when he moves his glare in our direction.
“The party’s here,” he runs over to Esther, twirling her around once in the air.
“Sure is,” she laughs looking back over at us.
We all laugh back.
The house smells like the picture I had in my head- one with beer and cigarettes. The banter of young adults and clinking of cans seems too familiar. There’s a case of beers in the corner of the kitchen kind of like that one house I was at years ago. I look down at  Marta pouring me beer into a cup. She slides it in my direction. I could feel my face getting hot as the drink bubbles down my throat.  Mali’s on her second and Marta just chased tequila with some salt and lime. The room shifts around just a smidge as a group of guys walk over to us. They seem about our age and have that aura of cologne that used to hold my attention. They’re all tall and lanky with a white complexion. My eyes move up to their youthful faces.  I’m keeping up with the second round of drinks.
We’ve all moved to the living room where Grant’s friend begins to set up a game of “King’s cup.” I’ve never played this one before so I turn to Marta and Esther.
“Quick, how does this game go?”
“Everyone goes around in a circle, drawing a card from the middle. Every card has an action to it. If you fail to do the action you have to drink. You can’t break the circle when removing a card. If you break the circle you have to chug the beer in the middle of the table and the games over.”
Marta was on my right and one of the boys on my left. I watched carefully as Esther’s friend, Grant, started off the game. It played out in front of me like a movie reel- all these actors picking up cards and folding them under the cap of the can in the middle. Music was playing in the background but I can’t recall what kind.
There was a boy sitting right by Grant- almost directly across from me. I didn’t get his name. But he was tall, lanky and white like the rest of them. His eyes were dilated- pupils large enough to match the gauges in his ears. They were tunnel gauges just like the ones I had. He kept looking over at me. I caught him every time I’d laugh or smile.
I moved through the game. with surprising ease. Even still, I ended up breaking the circle of cards and had to chug the beer in the middle. Once I delivered, the crowd went wild. After my moment of fame, the boy with the dilated eyes came over to me.
“What size are those?” he pointed at my ears.
I was alarmed at his attempt at conversation.
I hesitated- I didn’t know what size my gauges were.
“Mine are a double 00,” he continued.
“I don’t remember my size. But I want to go up to the ones you have,” I tapped at his ear lightly.
I don’t recall who ended the conversation, but I was now back at the corner of the kitchen with my friends where the beer had been. He was at the ping pong table with his.

The Inside

Stepping foot into that college house felt like walking into an abandoned building. I had recognized its walls but everything inside seemed empty. I hadn’t been to a house full of college students since the February of last year. Let alone a party. This gathering tonight wasn’t a big one- maybe 15 kids in total. But walking up the stairs to two girls in heels and cocktail dresses was a gut-wrenching wave of discomfort. Roaming by groups of frat boys holding beers was a sight that had me feeling like a ghost.
Marta was pouring my beer into a cup. I could see its frothy bubbles creeping off the edges. I had almost hoped it would flow out of the cup and onto the floor. But it didn’t. It was full as it slid in my direction. I could instantly sense the sadness in my head clouding over me like a coastal front.
Not a sip had entered my throat when  I already began to taste those nights of last February. My feet unsteady, I held the cup to my lips and took a swig. I was waiting for the sensation to hit- for that familiar desire to run. I was waiting for the feeling to commence- the one I had right before slitting my wrists in that L.A hotel bathroom.
I was a stranger standing by my best friends. Forcing conversation physically pained and escaping only seemed like running into closed arms. I was now sitting around a table of King’s Cup. Everyone knew how to play this game but me. I should have just taken that middle beer and chugged because I was already the loser. But no, I had to wait until after the game.
One of the boys sitting across the table kept looking at me. This was the first time since my ex that I recognized someone else. I had forgotten what it felt like- for a boy to eye me from up close. I looked back at him for a second and then right back to my feet. It made me think of Jimmie and my heart dropped.
I was slowly reverting back to my old intoxicated self. I was remembering my body sitting there on the toilet with bloody arms stretched out in front. The complimentary hotel razor laying on the floor.
Mali, Marta, and Esther were having the best time. They were laughing and talking to all the boys. I was along for the ride, smiling through the conversation. I fit right in. They’d have no idea.
Morgan is sitting on the carpet beside me, wads of toilet paper on her lap. Her hands are moving quickly. The trash had overflowed, and the pieces are now scattered across the floor. She is crying with me. 911 is pulled up on her phone. She wants to protect my privacy but also knows she has to do what’s right to keep me safe. Morgan leaves the phone untouched as she holds me. She held me for a long time that night. For hours.
My laughing hadn’t disappeared as we all continued to play the game. My smile showed up in every photo. The night was long. I’m not sure what part of me stayed sitting there at the table. What I was sure of was that another part of me had ran away at the first sight of life in that house. The girls with the heels and cocktail dresses.

For My Future Love

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Narrative Writing

If I could tell you one thing and one thing only it would be that I never thought you would happen. I’d tell you that not even my dreams would predict you. I was never a girl to have dreams about boys. Not at nighttime at least. I dreamt about killers decapitating my friends and a monster chasing me through the woods. But I’ve never dreamt about you.

I will doubt you more often than not. And stay up hours finessing reasons to not trust you. No matter how pure your heart I’ll still find things. And you’ll be woken up in the middle of the night to cries about those doubts of mine. They’ll physically hurt you but I won’t see it because I’ll feel like my pain is always stronger. Don’t carry my fragility on your back.

If I could tell you one thing it would be to ignore me sometimes. Don’t wallow in the shit I say. I recognize that it’s not fair for me to have those accommodations. But please. Please understand that my impulsive confessions have sent so many people running. Sometimes I think I should just not talk anymore. Silence has broken less hearts than words have. When I keep you up at night over everything I wish you were, believe me that those aren’t your weaknesses. They’re mine.

Don’t let me go  because you can’t gulp down that feeling I give you. Of not being enough.. You’re more than enough and I’m just inevitably damaged and a monster chasing me through the woods seemed to me more believable than the idea that I’d ever fall deep in love.

I Get Called a Hippie

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Narrative Writing

I get called a nature freak and/or hippie quite often these days. The thing about name-calling- it’s mostly used by those who don’t know you past your surface. Those who scroll through your photos without recognizing the locations. The ones who have yet to see you outside paved streets where the nature really lies.

Don’t get me wrong- call me what you will. You’re not hurting anybody. But before you chuck a name at my direction pull up the map. For it’ll show you that those streets written in grey all lead to homes that look the same. You can point a finger at the house my body sleeps in but that’s not where I truly live. It sure locks in my residence but my real home lies beyond that spec on the street.

The “home is where you heart is” spiel isn’t hippie nonsense. It’s been passed from generation to generation. That pretty much means it’s fact right? My heart lies in the spot by the water that I’d sit those days I didn’t want to be alive. And the woods I’d walk through when I wasn’t looking to be found. My heart lies in the stream passing by my favorite city. And those rocks by the lake I rest on with my friends.

So call me a nature freak. Call me a hippie. But you’ll have to find me first.

Electric Lines

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I live a few blocks away from a field of electric power lines. I’d take the long way home from work every day so that I could see it out my window. I’d pass by the same strip of houses all made of red brick. My foot remembered the grooves of that road as they led to the canvas of uncut grass. I’d spin my steering wheel towards the mouth of the field cautious of the life below the tires. My hand would graze over the gear onto ‘park’ as my neck creaked up towards the electric wires above.

I remember how delicate all the wiring looked. All perfectly stitched together. I could watch them for hours. I remember exploring the sky with my eyes- mapping the depth of  the field with my finger. I listened to the birds fall asleep to the setting sun and the stalks of grass waving goodnight.

We used to fall asleep together. I’d turn on one of my favorite songs and lay there. Sometimes I’d write. We’d stare at each other until it got too dark to see.

I recall the day like it was last night’s dream.  I drove to the field on my way back from work…but this time was different. The village had closed off the territory. The edge of the field had been invaded by bright orange cones. I was no longer welcome there.

I don’t take the long way home anymore but I do still remember the grooves of the road.






The Breakup

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Narrative Writing

1:30 A.M
April 20, 2017

I’ll go ahead and say it on here because I’ve learned that you’d rather me text than have a face to face conversation but I’ve been thinking about things and truthfully I don’t think we’re the right people for each other. I have certain things I’ve been wanting from you that I just haven’t been getting. And I just don’t feel completely happy. I know you must be feeling mad and sad and confused and hurt but please just hear me out. I’ve been putting this off because I hate the idea of not waking up to a conversation with you every morning and seeing your face and just being there for each other and all of it. But I respect myself enough to know that there’s things I haven’t been getting that I know I deserve. I know that makes you mad because you really did put the most you could into the relationship. And I respect you enough to not keep leading you on with something that I’m not completely content with. You and I both know we’re really different…almost as different as it gets. Different interests and just different expectations. I don’t want to fight anymore, or make you feel like you’re not doing enough. When it comes to the long run, I can’t be with someone that refuses to talk through things in person, or not show up to my grandma’s funeral, or not want to take me out after starting a higher paying job. Those are just a few things I personally can’t overlook. I don’t feel comfortable putting emphasis on stuff like this because I don’t feel like I can rationally communicate with you. There’s so much I really did start to love about you and I care about you as much as this seems heartless. I want to end on a good note. I want to explain myself in this text but I don’t want to start a back and fourth argument because it won’t solve anything. I guess that’s it. It hurts so much to do this but I think it truly is what’s best for us both. Bye.



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Stillness has been banging at the door all through the night
Desperate to come have a seat in the dimly-lit kitchen
Stillness knocks harder as the rain begins to storm
Its fist starts to turn blue yet no one seems to be home.

Stillness hasn’t come by here in a while
It hasn’t sat down at the table or turned up the lights
Sometimes I think I’ve forgotten what stillness feels like
What it feels to live inside walls that don’t tremble.

I hear it the loudest when I’m alone at night
When the house is too quiet for company
Yet the rooms inside my skin always undergo construction
Can’t you see it says ‘caution’- you’re not welcome here.

Stillness is afraid of what it can’t see in the dark
A bottle of pills lined up to stay woken at the sleeping hours
The stillness runs away at the sound of the amphetamines
Tiptoeing its way towards the mouth that feeds it.