One of Sorrow's few friends
Posted: Tue Jun 11, 2013 3:23 pm
I'm brazilian. I'm 25 and I'm a school teacher and an amateur writer. I've experienced depression for only a period of my life (somewhere between 14 and 20 years old). I could have had therapy but I didn't (I don't recommend trying to deal with it on your own! It's very dangerous to be alone and lost! I have an unsuccesful suicide attempt in my life! Looking back at me I feel sorry for my past self).
What I did was to try and understand the genesis of my sorrow and shake hands with it. The sadness was never gone, but when it came I could deal with it, talk to it, accept it, have some tea together. This way I've come to learn a lot about my own behavior.
My depression was based in being alone (no friends, even at work, nor partner), disliking my work (machinist), and also because of violence between my parents. At the apice of despair, when my father threatened my mom with a giant knife on his hand I had a violent fistfight with him in which we almost killed each other. Horrible memory. Tears of my mother. I left home. Lived alone for a while until I made some friends who live with me today. I'm attendeding Letters college to pursue my writing dream.
Over this path I've found more depressed people and was able to help them. I found it good to know that I have a human touch. People like to talk to me and, together, I've been able to help other people come and understand their sorrow. BUT I'M NO PROFESSIONAL!
I'm only a ghost, and this is not fiction.
What I did was to try and understand the genesis of my sorrow and shake hands with it. The sadness was never gone, but when it came I could deal with it, talk to it, accept it, have some tea together. This way I've come to learn a lot about my own behavior.
My depression was based in being alone (no friends, even at work, nor partner), disliking my work (machinist), and also because of violence between my parents. At the apice of despair, when my father threatened my mom with a giant knife on his hand I had a violent fistfight with him in which we almost killed each other. Horrible memory. Tears of my mother. I left home. Lived alone for a while until I made some friends who live with me today. I'm attendeding Letters college to pursue my writing dream.
Over this path I've found more depressed people and was able to help them. I found it good to know that I have a human touch. People like to talk to me and, together, I've been able to help other people come and understand their sorrow. BUT I'M NO PROFESSIONAL!
I'm only a ghost, and this is not fiction.
