By: Emma Rose Ryan Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of Googling. Ever since I walked out of my last psychiatrist appointment with an Adderall prescription – and four more letters to add to the alphabet soup of acronyms categorizing my mind – my browser history has looked like this: Google search: “ADHD”WebMD: “ADHD: Causes
manipulation anxiety need for an audience unstable interpersonal relationships (extremes of idealization and devaluation) frantic efforts abandonment (real or imagined) circumstantial (environmental sensitivity) transient, stress-related, paranoid ideation (severe dissociative symptoms) unstable self-image (markedly and persistent) reactive mood (instability due to) emptiness (chronic feelings of) difficulty controlling anger (inappropriate, intense, frequent displays) believed bad early adulthood
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You cannot explain what it feels like to want to die Cannot use words to explain an affliction beyond human comprehension Or how every path worn into the dirt beneath my feet leads me into the darkness The night You cannot explain what it feels like to be okay with this. To make peace with
Anna and I go back to the quirkiest, most nurturing workshop I’ve ever taken. Her humour and unique outlook on life helped me become a better writer. It was only after that workshop did I learn what a humble and genuine person Anna is. When she heard of Alt-Minds Magazine, she was thrilled to help
I met Michelle a year ago in a writing class and was immediately struck by the honesty in both her critique and her own writing. Since that class, she’s helped me polish a few of my own pieces and we became friends. When I started Alt-Minds Magazine, Michelle right away wanted to be involved and
We’re growing! We are looking for fiction and non-fiction/memoir (1,000 to 3,000) of any genre and poetry (no more than 40 lines) that is related to mental health, in theme, subject matter, characterization, whatever “mental health” means to you. Please email submissions to email@example.com. Rules for Submissions You are allowed to submit as many times
When you grow up in a hurricane there is no calm in the eye of a storm. Silence descends, it blankets, but you – you are still a creature of fine-tuned muscles from navigating gale force winds. Though the breeze is as gentle as the sigh of a summer night, you’ll walk with a shoulder-hunched