Depression- How to Cope

     Among the various problems teenagers are faced with today, Depression has become the most common. A disorder most often over-looked yet, it can have deadly side-effects if gone untreated. From socially withdrawing to self-inflicting pain, depression is an emotional roller coaster, especially in adolescents. The main issue of teen depression lies in the opinion society has placed on it, from being ashamed to admit the need for help, to implying how embarrassing it is to be on anti-depressants. With all the stress many teens are already faced with, asking for help should not be one of them.

Fiction-Striving for Skinny

   The lunch bell sounds and the hallways become crowded with restless students rushing towards the front of the line. I however, quickly search for a way out, desperately trying to avoid the questions as to why I am not eating....again. How could I? My fear of food and gaining weight had finally surfaced as a result of my insecurities. I've struggled with my body image since I was fifteen, always noticing the skinnier girls that would pass me in the hallway; despising myself for not being that pretty. Little did I know how quickly my obsession with body image would become an eating disorder that consumed my life.
  It was like a drug to me, just one time and I was hooked. Just one time, and I was purging at every opportunity I had. Overeating and always excusing myself after dinner, it's normal to believe my parents would question the odd habits I had quickly developed but, they didn't. My deadly actions were going unnoticed at my house and I was relieved. Weeks went by and I was excessively dropping jean sizes, and my shirts became less fitted. Sadly though, I had viewed this as an accomplishment in my life. My problems were never about my body or the size of my thighs. My issues were much deeper and they continued to grow until they reached the surface, making it much more difficult to conceal with a smile. I was changing my outside in hopes of becoming the happy girl I used to be on the inside.
   I was finally able to look in the mirror and sustain from shattering the image that stood before me. I was pretty and for the first time in my life, I could say that with confidence. Although soon, having the figure I had always wanted, silenced my words, as I struggled to keep my addiction below the surface.
   I told myself I would stop as soon as I hit the weight I wanted and the figure I could stand to look at but, I didn't. I continued binging and purging, becoming powerless and weak in the arms of this deadly addiction.

Journalist

     I've been writing since I was in grade school. Whether magical fairies or experiencing the joy of christmas through a little girl's eyes, the stories I wrote were the thoughts and ideas I couldn't say aloud. I created different worlds with odd creatures and, the best part was I could choose the ending! My imagination was on the run. That is until, reality put it to a hault. Upon entering high school, the daily stress I faced, forced me to put away my creative writings. The thoughts of a fifteen year old girl were forced to become spoken, while the eyes of my peers were glaring back with judgemental faces.
    There was no where to run, no where to hide. This was high school and whether my ideas mattered or not Communications and English class didn't care. I was giving speech after speech, slowly realizing my barely spoken and shaky words meant nothing to my peers. I needed a way for my voice to reach others on the issues that were important to my generation. I needed to become a journalist.
    The way thoughts and ideas can be transformed into words that flow on paper is fascinating. It is a talent meant not to be wasted. A talent I quickly discovered I held in my possesion.
  

Somebody Else

   I was simply trying to fit in. Trying to be the girl everyone wanted to hang around. I had spent the past two years of high school incredibly alone and, I was determined not to relive that nightmare. Shedding my innonence was easy, or so I thought. As I quickly learned the consequences to my actions, my life went spiraling out of control. Dangerous thoughts and rebellious ideas consumed my mind.
   It was the one shot of vodka that led to the regretful nights of my past mistakes. The pressure from my peers to constantly lie that buried me in a whole so deep, my relationship with my mom slowly withered. Who was I? I was somebody. I had friends. I laughed and I cried with them, drank and snuck out with them. I was so desperate to escape my life (to shed the good-girl image constantly lagging behind me) I suddenly became obsessed with changing myself.
   My friends never knew the real me. They never had the chance too. I was constantly lying, hiding under laughs and stupidity, too terrified to take off my mask. What would it reveal? Nothing. The real me wasn't important to these so-called "friends", at least that's what I told myself.
   I'm smart. I overthink everything, and never trust anybody. My past was a mystery to them and I tried my best to keep it that way. I was always acting stupid and saying things that would make my friends laugh. I forced myself to do everything I could just so they would notice me. Pathetic? I would say so. Here I was finally fitting in but, I was just a fake, starving for attention.
   There was no turning back now. The minute I reached for that shot of vodka, who I was quickly drowned. Only to be replaced by an insecure bitch that would hurt too many people. As much as I want to, I can't reverse my past, can't change what happened or the people I hurt. The only thing I can do is learn from what I've done and move on to new experiences and different hardships. Move on to discover who I was and what I've done doesn't have to determine the rest of my future.

Never Perfect

As I silently gazed upon the hill where my house once lay I began to ponder why I had even returned to this deslolate place. Even though the landscape is full of greenery, the place feels hollow and dead. This is the feeling that overcomes my body. A feeling so strong that 20 years is not near enough time to forget the events that occured inside this place I used to call hell. My own personal hell. I don't remember my first bike, or the first time I was able to ride a bike without training wheels. My memories are the nightmares I wish to escape. Even thinking back now, I'll never understand why pain was the only thing she ever gave me. Every slap in the face, and shove into the wall, was just a reminder of the perfect daughter I would never be. I was beaten down so many times, I knew she would eventually end my life. In fact, I prayed every time she was waving her fists, that this punch would be the last. It never was. I suffered bruise after bruise. Broken bone after broken bone. I was her punching bag, not her daughter, not someone she would couldn't live without, just another object painted with her anger. She broke a vase over my head when I was 16. I never saw it coming, even though day after day I came home in fear of the abuse she held over my head. Constant threats, whether verbal or the shaking of her fists, she terrorized and teased me. I never knew when an impulse would overcome her, forcing me to succumb to her fearful fists and frightening eyes.

Lost Without Him-Creative Fiction

            Before I was able to crawl to my knees, one final blow to my head and the room went spinning as I silently asked God for the end to come on my eighteen years of life.
             I met him when I was 16, a junior in high school to be exact. He had me starry-eyed and weak in the knees the first time he asked for my number. Unfortunatley, the moment I handed back the piece of paper with those ten numbers on it, that's when my nightmare began. Cameron wouldn't stop calling, wouldn't stop texting. Soon his high school crush quickly became an obsession, spiraling out of control with every move I made. Not spending time with Cameron was unacceptable and I soon learned that the hard way. I never expected him to follow me on my way to work; but, then again, there were alot of things I never expected from him. The first time he slapped me as I stepped out of my car never felt real to me, just a faded memory pushed out of my mind again and again. There is one memory however, that left its mark. The moon-shaped scars on both my wrists. Constant reminders of the perfect girlfriend I would never be. I begged for him to let go, screamed out in pain while the sight of red was appearing underneath his nails. When Cameron thought I had had enough, he released his grip and told me now I'd always remember how pissed off I could make him. Tears streamed down my face as I silently screamed, for he had taken away the voice I used to have. Weeks went by (dreadfully I might add) and slaps in the face soon turned into punches. I hated myself for making Cameron so upset, so angry. I released a demon inside of him, a demon I knew I could rid from the soul of Cameron. I did everything I could. Cleaned, cooked, and I was constantly buying him jewelry I couldn't afford. I was slowly digging a hole straight into financial debt but, losing my money was much better than losing him. I believed I was nothing without him. Worthless and stupid. I had someone who loved me so much,that he would do anything to keep me from looking elsewhere, even if that meant taking my life. I was staring at the devil everytime I looked into Cameron's eyes, soon realizing his hunger for control was taking him over...and he would do anything to stay in power even if that meant killing....me.