Integrity: the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles; moral uprightness. The state of being whole and undivided. It seems so simple and unassuming. Be honest, have strong morals. Be steadfast and unwavering. At times, my mind still cannot grasp the full meaning of these definitions. I mean, what does it mean to be whole and undivided? It's like I can hear the words and I recognize the meaning of them individually, but when assembled together, they become another language altogether. One I cannot fully understand.
It has been a long journey in my life to figure out who I am. From being the ugly duckling in my school, to literally getting beaten with sticks because I was hated. My peers pretend to gag as I walked passed them in the halls, they called me nasty names, tagged me I posts saying I was "uglier that the ugliest hobo alive", I wasn't a very liked kid. I didn't really have many friends, and if I did they didn't last long. So, I had learned the hard way to try and be with myself.
With the current stereotypes about the gay community, it can hard to unpack the notion of a friend with benefits. There is a general preconceived understanding of the gay community that it is extraordinary to find gay men who are friends and have not been romantically or sexually involved at some point. It is a stereotype, gay friends for solely companionship sake does not exist, though it could be deemed rare based on the rate of occurrence.
After years of suffering in silence, I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis in October 2015. This disease has forever changed the course of my life and made it impossible for me to continue my work as a commercial real estate broker, a job which requires constant traveling and time on my feet. I’m hoping the documenting of my experience motivates others to get help.
I was certain that one of the benefits of getting clean would be finding a loving relationship. Fortunately, that has not been the case. I say fortunately because the love I have gained for myself from months of failed dating experiences has been instrumental in my personal growth.
In the gay community though, it seems like it is difficult or impossible to be bisexual. I’ve come across people that think that I am gay and am just afraid to commit to being gay, and others that say believe bisexuality doesn’t exist. There are internet forums and chat groups within the gay community where the mention of anything straight is blatantly shut down as being ‘gross’ or something unnatural. In my experience, bisexuality is not met with open acceptance, but more with a muted hostility.
Like many addicts, I had not realized how after almost a decade of misuse, alcohol had become my primary means of coping with every situation. I drank when I was sad; I drank when I was anxious; I drank when I was stressed; I drank when I was excited. In sobriety, I had to learn how to not only deal with these emotions, but to experience them. I’d spent so many years blunting them with a sheet of alcohol.
Some days, I wake up and barter with my subconscious: If you don’t want to kill yourself, you’ll need to sacrifice today’s peace of mind. So I would. But there would be days when the urge to kill myself was delicious, even intoxicating, and I’d settle for hurting myself, banging my head against walls, cutting myself, anything, really, to quell that voice which so often whispers its dreadful nothings in my ear.
As an openly gay man, I never thought my best friend would be a heterosexual male. Thankfully, my best friend is just that and it has become one of the most fundamental aspects of my adult life.
Your body and mind both begin to repair themselves during the process of getting sober, but there are some blemishes on your brain that you can’t scrub out, no matter how much support and clarity you have. This rings true for an alcoholic like myself who is still an extrovert and craves the social interaction that is innately intertwined with drinking. Even now as I am preparing to add another mile-marker to my sober travels, I still find myself caught off-guard and insecure when I least expect it.
Like any addiction, my eating disorder made me behave strangely; I retreated into myself and felt always alone. When I ate too much in public, I made excuses to go home so I could remove the sustenance from my body. When I went to meals with friends, I lied and said I’d already eaten and watched enviously as they ate ‘normal’ food without thinking twice.
Though I am not afraid to admit that I am mentally ill, I understand why people are: Mental illness is still stigmatized. Nationally, we mostly speak about mental illness in the wake of mass shootings, or after suicides. Historically, when people suffered from mental illness, they were shipped off to devastating institutions. As a result, people might worry that they’d lose jobs, friendship or romantic relationships if they were honest about their mental health issues.
The mass shooting in Orlando at Pulse Nightclub happened the night before my graduation. Some of the most formative years in my life were book ended by one of the most formative experiences in US history. I can’t remember how many times I watched Lin Manuel Miranda’s Tony Award speech. “Nothing is promised,” he said. You see black in times like these.
Early sobriety in many ways, felt much like my time in India: I was navigating terrain that was so far beyond my comfort zone, where all of my preconceived notions were constantly being proven wrong. I was in a place where the only constant was what I wanted to most escape: Myself.
I keep my feelings to myself, placing them in an air tight container to keep everyone around me happy. They don't understand what it's like. People don't want to hear about how I really feel, that would ruin the euphoria of their life – a selfish bliss achieved by ignoring the plight of those around them. You see, it's only when someone dies that people are encouraged to reflect and wish that they would've done something more – asked, and meant that one simple question.
If you’re a heavy drinker, that decision can seem impossible. I always ran with a hard-partying crowd. For someone young, the thought of losing access to the social situation they’ve always known is terrifying. Whenever I would try to become sober – which happened at least ten times before it actually worked – the voice inside my head would incessantly shout: What if I’m less funny when I’m sober? What am I even going to talk to this person about if I’m not drunk? I can’t dance until I’ve taken a few shots! Sleeping with someone without alcohol?!
“Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical. Our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost….”
Dating is hard enough. There is no need to make it even more difficult than it already is. Respect other people. Communicate. Know what you want and state it. Decide whether you want to be in a relationship and don’t waste someone's time. Don’t mistake fear for intuition. And for god sakes, don’t ghost people. If all else fails, just remember this- be yourself and don’t be a dick. Because karma really is a bitch.
The hardest thing in a friendship is understanding that at some point, you will have to let them go. Whether this be a move, or a new relationship, or a shady mistake one of you had partaken in. But it will happen to all of us, one time or another. But I don’t know what is worse, the official friend breakup, or the final meeting that occurs weeks or even months later.
Being with someone with an anxiety disorder is like being with anyone else, it’s about learning your partner and figuring out how they see the world and how you can see the world together. Anxiety, like any other mental health issue, is different for everyone that experiences it.
For two years, I worked at a psychiatric hospital with most of our clients homeless and addicted. A former client explained to me that it’s impossible to be sober while on the streets. Drugs dull your situation as well as protect you (uppers keep you awake at night to guard your belongings and downers allow you to sleep during the day when it’s safer). It’s hard to keep doctor appointments and refill prescriptions when you don’t know where you are sleeping that night.
Chester Bennington was a powerhouse. He had an unforgettable voice, an infectious stage presence, and a whole lot of pain. He spent his career sharing that pain with us so that we didn’t have to be alone, and I’ve only cried today thinking about how he thought he was alone. He made me and so many other people ok, but he couldn’t be ok. And that is the real tragedy of suicide.
The friendship card, ladies and gentleman is a form of blackmail, usually provided by a best friend. Though the actual time the friendship card is passed is unknown when your BFF holds the power, consider it over.
I know there are a lot of people out there who feel alone and invisible some, maybe all, of the time, and there are so many words of wisdom out there from “anonymous” or dead people. It feels like my responsibility, as a survivor of a darkened heart, to share a fresh message of hope.There is a fine line between being alone and being lonely. That line is called clarity.
I’ve noticed an addiction. Not one to alcohol or drugs, but more of a social addiction; an addiction to going out. Week after week, almost day after day, my friends do the same things at the same bars and house parties with the same people and it makes me want to pose a question: If you do the same things you do during a special event that you do every other day, did you just waste that special event?
At that meeting, a friend of mine, who is no longer with us, shared about not being able to decipher the true from the false. He made the point that the only difference between people in the “loony bin” and us, is that we’re sitting in here talking to each other while they’re sitting in there talking to themselves...
All over the internet I’ve been seeing advice pieces for millennials. Idealistic perspectives that make building a career seem like finding a glass slipper. For most people, job hunting isn’t this much of a fairy tale, but more like a pebble in your shoe that you need to get rid of.
Since then, they have been blocked from all social media and any ability to contact me by phone. I have limited interactions at family gatherings to a “hello” and “goodbye” when I choose to return them. I took the power back. This was not about revenge or getting even. It was about protecting myself and realizing that sometimes those close to you do not deserve the right to be there. It was about ensuring I had people in my life who wanted to be there not because they felt obligated by blood, marriage, or some other possibly meaningless connection. Through these relationships I found the ability to gain enough respect for myself to stand up against those who did not share the same respect for me.
Finding my newly discovered sobriety to be my most cherished possession, I began what has now come to be a four year journey into my sexuality and my, at the time, crippling fear of being gay. After many conversations with psychologists, awkward interactions with family members, compassion from understanding friends, endless thinking and writing, and finally what has now come to be several forays with the same sex, I am ready to share what I have learned about gay love.
If life taught me anything, it's that the ride will continue, and life moves on whether you are ready or not. Yes, your age of innocence is over and you have to decide whether or not to sink or swim. And yes, it isn’t always clear what the right or wrong path is. But you keep moving; ride that rollercoaster with confidence and class.
That was it. Everyone left me and I had nowhere to turn, nowhere to run, no one left. After losing my job on the summer bay I had found myself at the far too familiar place of rock bottom. The people that loved me that had 'abandoned' me gave me a special gift by their absence. The gift of room. Room to grow.
The next day I found myself in a treatment center. When I told my daughter that I was “going away for depression for 30 days,” she wouldn’t even look at me. I knew then I was powerless over how others perceived me. My secret was out. Bring on all the shame and guilt. Everyone now knew that I was “a junky piece of shit,” which is how I saw myself. My friends and family would start to tell me how they missed “the old Candice,” but I had no idea who that was. I knew Brooklyn’s mom, Mike’s ex-girlfriend, the girl who climbs the corporate ladder. But I didn’t even know what my favorite color was.
Like life outside the rooms, at least in my hometown, idea of sexual exploration seemed to be only okay with one person, and only if you were dating with the intent of possibly getting married or at least perusing a longer-term relationship. A little more rope seemed to be granted to men, but for the most part sex was seen as a distraction to recovery, which it very well can be to many people and was to me in the first couple years, but in turn the idea that an individual could have the ideal of not wanting a romantic relationship, wanted multiple partners of varying genders, practices, and fluidity…well, it just wasn’t talked about
I have always been highly aware of my mortality. At the age of ten, I wrote a poem about death. I was ahead of my time, I still am. I questioned the existence of an after life. I worried about what life would be like without me here. I wondered what death would be like. I envied all the people who would survive without me and get to experience more time, more love, more life than me
My life went from Bering Sea badass to full blown junkie very rapidly. Hidden from me was that passion I had for life. Taken from me was my ability to live. I was at war with my addiction and it was winning.
I must admit, I have never contributed to anything before. Well, I’ve contributed to the increase in my weight, but I don’t think that really counts.
I woke up on the morning of September 11th, 2009 feeling the deepest pit of shame in my gut I had ever felt in my 20 years of life. Truly embarrassed, I walked into my home group that night and picked up my final surrender chip. That was when the real work began
I couldn’t stomach my meal and I certainly could no longer stomach this man. A false sense of entitlement stemmed from his luxurious upbringing; money does not make you better than anyone. Money cannot buy you kindness, but if it could, I doubt someone of his nature would ever splurge on it
I discovered my core reason for my use; my low self-esteem and self-worth. I began to work on ways to improve those in a healthy way. I learned that happiness can exist in every moment you are in, if you let it. I worked on thinking more positively and finding the silver lining to every situation. I took responsibility for the fact that I made choices in my addiction that negatively affected myself and those around me whom I loved, and I began to make amends for those mistakes.
No good can come from our continued sharing of articles harshly demonizing one another. It only furthers the difference between us and recharges the debate. Like the earth and the clouds slowly becoming more polarized against one another, our opinions, if they are not well informed, will eventually have to strike to relieve the buildup. If we work to alleviate the pressure buildup that comes from constantly sharing misinformation, we can hopefully live in a world where it doesn’t feel like lightning could strike at any moment.
This has developed a sense of stability. Same surroundings, same people, same meetings. My sobriety is strong. It is stable. Yes, there have been a lot changes: boyfriends, lovers, houses, jobs, sponsors. But, I grew mentally, spiritually, emotionally. I love differently, I live differently.
In a sense, I knew Max's death was coming. He'd go in and out. And his path of active addiction would only lead to one destination. His pain has been alleviated. His suffering has come to an end.
I came into sobriety as a young, baffled, broken gay boy. I never considered myself a joiner and, honestly, didn’t like people that much. But what staying sober and participating in my own recovery has done at some deep level is change who I was and what I was about. Today, it’s an honor to say I’m a part of something that is actually impacting and helping people that are just like me. This new life is something I couldn’t have imagined and I’m so glad I traded in my old life for the one I have today.
If this sounds like an absolute nightmare, you’re right. However, this is the reality of the very real process by which thousands upon thousands of dancers, singers, actors, and all other manner of performer attempt to gain employment. All the while juggling multiple side jobs, abject poverty, and the constant notion that they might not be good enough to make it. Couple that with the societal notion that their profession isn’t a “real job” you have a perfect storm.
I often wonder how differently things could have turned out for me, had one small circumstance been different. I confront this thought daily as I take an inventory of the many blessings I now enjoy, and remember the struggles I somehow managed to survive. What I’ve come to understand about my path as a recovering drug addict is simple: every experience has value.
I pressed the eject button with no regard for a parachute. I have some good ideas about why I did that, but I really don't know for sure. I haven't been to therapy yet, where I'm sure this story will be a big topic of conversation, so until I get a better answer, I'm using this one: when you run out of cocaine, you just don't feel like dancing.
I started drinking alcoholically when I was 15 years old. I discovered hard drugs when I was 16. I started toying with the idea of killing myself when I was about 13. I’ve felt out of place since for as long as I can remember.
The feeling of ecstasy bursts through me like an orgasm of epic proportions. All because of a song. It's not that I can't control myself. I just don't want to. That is what I feel when I have a manic episode. I'm more than happy. I feel unstoppable, on top of the world.
This has been a tough year. We lost many people. Celebrities, loved ones. Let them stay in your heart and memories. Let this past year be a reminder of how precious life is. Keep our loved ones close to us. Say, “I love you,” to them.
Here’s what the next four years are going to look like: people complaining, people protesting, people complaining about the protesters, just like it has been in the past few weeks. Our voices aren’t going to change anything. Just like they didn’t change the Electoral College vote. Want to change the country? Fight it within! Educate the masses! Don’t spread lies with those fake articles! Donald Trump is going to complain about SNL, the people, he may even complain about this article. But guess what? This bitch doesn’t care what Donald Trump says!
I’m just listing what we need. I’m asking you to take part in it. Do drag! Write that book! Act in that play! Sing those songs! Make us laugh, cry, sing, dance! This is your time to shine! And it doesn’t matter if you’re a man, woman, trans, gay, straight, religion, color of your skin… America needs you to be as creative as possible to make this country livable in what could be a dismal four years!
I will hereby make a, what today seems like, radical claim. For the sake of reflection, I will suggest that those who are dispositioned towards so called “political inaction” and tranquility, while others suffer, are not to be loathed.
I'm not really sure why I'm writing you a letter. Maybe it's because I live in a society where what you did to me is inconvenient for other people to accept, so my silence is easier for everyone. I'm sick of it. I don't want to be silent anymore. My voice matters. I don't know if it matters to you or not, but it matters to me.
By Susan Heide
Growing up in a household with alcoholism, violence, abuse and mental illness cemented my thinking for many years. I thought if I could be perfect and fix or control the problem, the chaos in my home would stop. I continued this pattern throughout my life with the other alcoholics in my life in addition to my mother, including my son and my boyfriend. It was the creation of my own version of insanity. Repeating the same behavior over and over and expecting a different result. It wasn’t until I entered the rooms of Al-anon that I learned differently.
By Zed Carter
It’s hard for me to even put into words how much I obsessed about this. It took over my every thought and action. If I didn’t have any, I was thinking of how to get it. If I had some, I was thinking about my next one. Achieving constant numbness was what I desired, and I did whatever I thought I could to do it. I started stealing from family and friends. Sold or pawned all the stuff I had and even what my family had. I got fired from jobs for stealing money from the till. I had lost control and couldn’t stop.
By Natallie St Onge
There was fog on the freeway that day. It stained the clouds with hints of hesitation, pierced the bridge that covered the rotting yellow lines with a shade of melancholy and dissipated into the sights of the brave who had the will to look. The sun was little to no presence, its rays commuting to other sources of life that needed its color to live, like the sea whom depended upon the warmth to guide the waves. Relevant and dense, hard to see through, easy to know who it is, the fog on the freeway was there that day.
By Chris Heide
They say that relapse doesn’t have to be a part of your story. For me, it was a necessary plot twist in the story of my recovery. A period that dramatically and irrevocably altered my course. My relapse provided me with a purpose for my life. Let me explain why.
By Ryan Vasquez
Consider this a brief newcomer’s guide to Washington that provides you with a realistic point of view of the greater Seattle area as opposed to the same old trumped up brochure bull shit you can find via any google search.
By Megan McDowell
To abandon is to give up; discontinue; withdraw from: Pertaining to something that is not meant to be possessed, or is being held without merit.
By Casey Allen
Words, ideas and language both written and spoken are all of much more importance to me personally. I find the possibilities, variations and interpretations to be far more captivating and rewarding. One sentence can have any number of meanings depending on factors such as emphasis, context and, perhaps most importantly, the personal influences and analysis of whoever is reading or hearing the words.
By Charlotte Hollingsworth
My relationship with my father, for its inconsistent place in my life, affected me the same way. Being ignored and convinced I deserved it was a hallmark of both. My father was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, with borderline personality disorder, he was a drug addict, he was a neglected child. My ex was simply not capable of the attention and affection I deeply needed, and couldn’t help that I was using this very thing as a way to fitfully exorcise my own demons.
By Kyle Getz
I should back up. I’m gay. And not just a little bit, dip it in the crack gay. I’m all-the-way, tell-you-to-thrust-it-deep-inside-me-until-you-find-my-he-spot gay. Okay. You’re all caught up now. Yes, I have to come out with intention; some people don’t know until I proclaim it.
By Charlotte Hollingsworth
In just under 90 days, I am going to turn 30 years old. Every year around September I start to get reflective, there are quite a few anniversaries this time of year leading up to the oldest anniversary of my life, and the changing of a season is always an inspiration to introspection. But I’m excited this year. The last two years of my 20’s have been tumultuous to say the very least, and I am excited by how much I’ve learned, and how much calmer my life is becoming.
By Kat Larson
I’m a boss. I couldn’t hustle harder if I tried. I literally fly around work in a cape blazer- which by the way, I am convinced this is the best fashion invention of this century by far. At work I’m recognized by my 3.5 inch platform pumps, all black everything, and crimson red lips. I go in, work hard, and get the hell out of there.
By Natallie St. Onge
People don’t last forever. People, relationships, do not come with an expiration date, but they do come with warning signs. They come with feelings, and awkwardness, and hurt and sadness that you can’t always repair. They come with opinions that are different than yours and they come with other people. They come alone, or they come in a tidal wave of self-doubt and anger, of joy and welcoming company for you to meet. People come with a start. People come with an end.
By Karis Maguire
Manic episodes are intoxicating. During these chaotic episodes, I almost always acted out. I engaged in dangerous activities and hurt people around me without regret. Mania is like addiction. My drive to continue to “feel good” became my primary purpose in life, which inevitably generated insatiable amounts of chaos
By Kelsey Ryan
I was willing to do anything for my love. I was willing to steal, to give up my real friends, to lie and manipulate people to get what I needed. I was willing to become a monster for my love, something that scares me even now. Something you love should never make you change who you are for the worse, but instead should allow you to grow for the better. My love changed me, and it was definitely for the worse.
By Dylan Flint
Turn off the news. Study history. Shut out the spin doctors, the witch hunters, those who let no tragedy go to waste. They are not there to help you but to help themselves. Learn how to be a better human. Learn how to be a King. The bank of justice is not bankrupt. Redemption is all around you.
By Joshua Boyles
I wish the memories of my childhood weren’t the flashbulb memories of trauma and abuse. I was raised by a single mother. I know there were times of joy and laughter, but what I remember most is always being afraid of her wrath. There was a presence of alcohol, sometimes and excess, and the daily smoking of marijuana. You would think that with the amount of pot she consumed she would have been calmer, but she was not.
By Aaron Michael
It’s important to remember that you’re not a victim to anybody. If you don’t like your boss, your job, your circle, your circumstances then change your attitude, and I guarantee the things in your life will change. If you don’t like how your child behaves, change how you parent. If you don’t like the way your finances look, change what you do to earn an income. If you don’t like the way your life is, understand that you are not a victim to circumstances
By Nina Clevinger
Music isn’t meant to be loved by everyone, or hated by everyone. Music is meant to help the person creating it express themselves, and the person listening to it learn about themselves, and vice versa. Music is single-handedly the thing that keeps us all going, it’s right up there with love - it’s all we need. Love and music. And to be completely honest, I think love and music are the same things.
By Max Aldinger
Therein lies the problem with sex addiction. You can’t just swear off the opposite sex forever. Companionship is a normal part of being human which is why in fellowships like sex and love addicts anonymous you’re expected to create “bottom lines” for yourself. Things like watching porn, getting hookers, using dating apps can all be considered a relapse based upon your personal story and problems with sex.
By Alaina Clarke
If you’re a Serial Dater like me, I can give you one piece of advice; everything, everywhere, all the time, is changing. Putting all of your happiness into the hands of another person will not erase the things you have been through. You have to face your pain with courage, tenacity and dignity.
By Evan Glass
When going through a struggle, however difficult or easy it may be, we have a decision to make. We can either let it kill us (and control us), or we can embrace the struggle and make it an asset for ourselves and our lives. Unfortunately, most people let it kill them.
By Natallie St. Onge
For the past year, I have struggled with immense thoughts of doubt, paranoia of all things high school, and the grieving loss of a best friend. I’ve cried the equivalent amount of a monsoon in the tropics, and I have heaved and complained more than I ever thought I could.
By Chris Heide
“Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead.”
By Evan Glass
“You can’t ever drink again?”
This is what I asked my girlfriend after she told me about her alcoholism. For some reason I thought alcoholics, after they recover, could drink again. We had been dating for all of two days before she had a drinking episode that forced her into the hospital, AA meetings and to accept the fact that she was an alcoholic. After she told me about this episode, my stomach dropped. I was nervous, as I was not fully aware of the severity of her disease at the time.
By Graeme Aegerter
I raced down the street, bare feet pounding against pavement until asphalt gave way to gravel to grass then the soft earth of the woods. This was my last chance. They were going to force me to go to rehab, so I knew I had to drink to die. Hopeless, defeated, and too tired for my usual suicide tactics, I begged the universe to take me away from this life as I drowned myself in alcohol. I fell to the earth, unconscious.
By Robert Williams
Shortly after one of the most difficult events of my life, I had a most beautiful man next to me in my bed. We had recently met through mutual friends, connected immediately, and stumbled home together after a flirtatious evening out.
By Chloe St. Onge
I hated chocolate. Yet whenever I went out for dessert that is what I ordered. My friends always ordered chocolate and I followed suit to fit in. Growing up I looked for approval from my parents and peers. I was terrified by the fear of not fitting in and being rejected. On one level, conforming felt good. It was comfortable. On a deeper level, I knew it was not really me. But how do you go about discovering who you really are when you fear you are going to be judged?
By An Anonymous Contributor
I sit in darkness. I can hear muffled sounds around me but cannot make anything of it. My body feels weak, and for some reason I my mind tells me that I don’t want to open my eyes.
By Cody Heck
We often forget that an entire generation of young gay men were also raised with Disney Princess dreams. We’re given this idea that as long as we try our best, remain relatively poised, and do the right thing we’ll be justly rewarded with our Prince Charming or knight in shining armor. This all seems harmless at first, until you’re finally slapped in the face with societal roles and the cold, harsh nature of reality.
By an Anonymous Contributor
From time to time, in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, I will hear someone introduce themselves in the customary way, “My name is ____________ and I’m an alcoholic”, however before the word alcoholic they will insert the word grateful. When i first heard this I was struck with an instant disgust for the term. How could someone be grateful for their alcoholism?
By Michael Ryan Blackwood
I've struggled with my mental health for almost as long as I can remember. I've now seen two psychiatrists and two other therapists. I have chronic depression, also known as dysthymia. (From the Greek for "bad state of mind," though thumos literally translates to "soul." Bad soul. Well that's encouraging.) If you think of the normal person's mood as sitting on a line (which will have natural fluctuation), the depressed mood sits below that line. Symptoms often include lack of motivation, feelings of guilt, feelings of worthlessness, self-doubt, and sometimes suicidal thoughts.
By Christopher Heide
To all the men out there: Can you remember the last time you cried or got in touch with your feelings? Most men would answer that they have not in a long while, and it might have something to do with the fact that we are a society obsessed with appearance. Many people still unfairly consider men who acknowledge the vulnerability of their feelings, cry or even talk about their emotions as weak and unstable.
By an Anonymous Contributor
I am a liar. It’s simple really. I learned a long time ago that telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth got me nothing but pain, misery, hopelessness and depression. These are not a few of my favorite things. Time and time again, I would tell people how I really feel or think and get reamed. No one cares how I feel. They care how I make THEM feel. People don’t want to hear about my problems, fears or concerns. They want me to make them feel good. They want me to be the party guy who dances his ass off, gets all the girls and makes them look good. Weakness is a Darwinian trait. Only the strong survive and strength perceived is strength achieved. If you don’t have it, act like you do. Do it long enough and it becomes truth.
By Dillon Turman
Imagine living in a society where your most basic human rights are regulated, stripped and perhaps even vacant. As you begin to paint that picture in your head, take into account that there are many societies today in our world that still do not focus on individuality; rather, they focus on tradition and/or a linear set of beliefs and expectations.
By Dillon Turman
Underground – a subculture or simply a place beneath existence that harbors no life and desolation. To me the word “underground” translates into my very existence. As you may be able to identify--with further analysis—the photo attached represents a boy torn between keeping the mask that bares all stereotypes, all stigmas and normalcy and removing it to show and fully express his true self. That boy is me – and I live in a world that truly makes no sense within the 8 to 5, but as the evening and weekend hours manifest, my identity and artistry lights up and kisses the earth like the sun at dawn. I wish to sacrifice myself as a token of the world many of my artist peers live in.
By Dillon Turman
Community -- what does it mean to you? For most, it means coming together. By definition, it means a feeling of fellowship with others due to sharing common attitudes, interests, and goals. What is the purpose of community on a state level or perhaps even a national level? In my opinion, the purpose of community is awareness--regardless of your location.
By Ben Schock
At the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, as we stood in line waiting to be received by the ticketing agent, I scanned the nearly empty hallway: nearly five o’clock in the morning and the only airport occupants were servicemen and -women, their spouses, kids, pets caged in their crates, and enormous amounts of luggage—their families. What made their journey to their future duty stations different than my husband’s and mine?
By Joshua Trotter
I once was a boy without fear of tomorrow. I lived without judgment because there was no judgment. I was just a boy, with blond hair, hazel eyes. I was once known as a mama's boy, who was studying to become a youth pastor, who thought that becoming more involved in religion, because his mother said it was good and right, was the best thing for his life.
By Jordan Heide
“Homosexuals are brute beasts, part of a vile and satanic system that will be utterly annihilated, and there will be a celebration in heaven." Complements of the notorious Jerry Falwell, the above quotation summarizes the dangerous antagonism that faces homosexual Americans on a daily basis. The source of that antagonism? A group that proselytizes love, peace, and understanding, yet defames anyone who doesn’t conform to its archaic set of beliefs. I’m speaking, of course, about Christians.
By Christopher Heide
A new theory has begun to pervert popular culture and could continue to have a drastically adverse affect on alcohol abuse. A minority of alcohol abuse counselors assert that some problem drinkers can learn to moderately consume alcohol. Nothing could be more dangerous to a generation that already severely lacks impulse control.