I majored in Economics so I’m fairly familiar with the term Great Depression. But let me talk about the great depression of the other kind. The kind where you can’t find the motivation to crawl out of bed, the kind where you’re mood and reaction to everything is “meh”, the kind that zaps away your interest in your existing hobbies and the kind that makes you in an internal battle with your own mind.
I was reading an article about being unemployed while having depression and it reminded me of where I was a few months back but it also reminded me how blessed I am for everything to work out in the end.
Here’s my two cents on (fun)employment and depression.
Here’s some Raya anxiety anecdotes and how to overcome them. Whenever the fasting month ends, most people get excited by the fact Eid is coming up. Well, not me.
I’m not a very festive person to begin with and anxiety plays a huge role in shaping me to be so. (Also, the fear of being hit by those “pop-pop” fire cracker thingys is immensely real).
Eid, or Hari Raya in fact any festivity involves a large group (read: crowd) and you know how I feel about crowds.
TRIGGER WARNING: This post talks about prescription medicine and will touch heavily on pills. If you feel uncomfortable about such topics, please do not read any further.
This is the second part of writing about my journey of being prescribed mental health medication, you can read part 1 here.
Currently, I’m almost three months in consuming whatever’s been prescribed to me and I’m treating this post as a progress update and to somewhat address my initial thoughts on prescription medicine that I wrote about in the previous part.
Classify me as a bookworm or one of those people who have hobbies that are a snooze fest, but I love reading. It may have started with Peter and Jane and transitioned to Enid Blyton and went to an embarrassing hopeless romantic (read: deplorable) phase of Nicholas Sparks and even the “football literature” phase with works from Sid Lowe and Stefan Szymanski. But soon I found my cup of tea when it came to books: Haruki Murakami.
Anyone who knows me well is aware that I’m a self-confessed Murakami snob, a moniker I take seriously. So far, I’ve read nine of his works. I loved the idea of meeting a Sheep Man who tells you to dance, the ability to talk to cats, having a parallel universe with two moons or when your brain is circuited to the end of the world. Oh, and not to forget all those times you had a friend named “Rat” that you had to track within three books, completely unrelated to each other. What a dystopian literature dream!
forbidden wonderful worlds of Haruki Murakami!
See, told ya I take the term “Murakami Snob” seriously. I got carried away. Soz.
The purpose of writing this post is to explore the art of book hoarding and how anxiety plays a role (yea, if you’re in my shoes anxiety plays a role in everything). Continue Reading
I first heard the term maladaptive behavior during my first therapy session. My therapist claims I have maladaptive behavior after I told her about my first semester at university, abroad *shudders*. Back in my first semester at State, I found it hard to find a sense of belonging, it took me awhile to find a group of friends, fellow club members and part-time work colleagues who made me feel loved and appreciated.
To me, maladaptive behaviour means the inability to adapt to something foreign. Well, like all of other things, Wikipedia has a more in depth definition which you can find here.
I recently realized I practice maladaptive behavior as a football fan.
Oh, the perils of job hunting.
A couple of months back while I was still an intern, I was on my way home on the LRT when I spotted a billboard about a career fair. I thought to myself if I were to go to a career fair again I would feel like a failure.
A failure. Oh Mariah, you’re playing the role of Debbie Downer again. But my reason for feeling so back then was because almost everyone I knew from school had full-time, baller-esque corporate positions. A secure future, good for them. (And yes, I have this bad habit of comparing myself to others, my shrink agrees with you).
Not to be stereotyping but Asian parents aren’t the best role models when it comes to awareness about mental illness. Asian cultures aren’t the most exemplary when it comes to being vocal about how you feel. It’s almost taboo to do so. Dinner time conversations never start with a “so, how was your day?” instead its spent in front of the television with the news on.