Yes, I Get Stressed And Very Sad, No, I Don't Have Depression

Yes, I Get Stressed And Very Sad, No, I Don't Have Depression

No, I don't feel helpless or hopeless. No, I don't have a loss of interest in daily activities.
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Recently I wrote an article about how I have a lack of motivation to do homework for my college classes, but I still get grades on the higher end of the spectrum.

Which, in most situations is the case for students in any type level of school. I posted this article on my Facebook page, and some family members and family friends texted my dad that I have depression because I'm losing interest in my day-to-day life.

Yes, I do the same routine every day; wake up, go to my classes for the day, do homework, eat, and sleep. Yes, I might have a loss of energy and might get irritated by things more. No, I don't feel helpless or hopeless. No, I don't have a loss of interest in daily activities.

I get stressed over homework and work, it's a part of being human and a college student. I have a lot on my plate. Most of my time is spent doing homework, sitting in a class, and working, but I always find time to hang out with friends or do something fun. Just because I might sleep less at night and want to sleep more during the day so I can keep up with school, doesn't mean that I'm losing interest in daily activities. If that was the case, I wouldn't even wake up to go to my classes. My loss in energy and being irritated more is coming from the lack of sleep and never having enough time alone to recoup myself.

I don't isolate myself from people. I work my butt off to get the things I need to get done weekly, done. Yes, sometimes I get frustrated and stressed and might shed a few tears but that's how I cope with it.

I can't do homework because I'll keep thinking about what I need to do, I can't try and fall asleep because yet again I'll keep thinking of what I have to do. I get sad over everything I have to do, but I'm not hopeless that things won't change and get better; a way for me to go to class and work and get enough sleep.

A person is not depressed because they would rather sit in their room all day watching Netflix and sleeping rather than doing homework and being productive. It's called procrastination. People use the word depression so lightly, saying things like how you spending all that alone time can lead to depression or "I'm so depressed because my favorite characters from 'Grey's Anatomy' died." I promise you that people that have depression don't go around flaunting it because to them it's not something to flaunt.

So yeah, I get stressed and would rather stay at home sleeping or watch Netflix then go to school or work. But no, I'm not depressed or losing interest in my day-to-day life, I'm just tired.

Cover Image Credit: Naomi August

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Poetry on Odyssey: Therapy

Depression has grown into a living being.
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I finally convinced Depression to

go to couple’s counseling.

He argued that we did not need a shrink;

says I don’t need someone telling me

how to love and what to think.

He already does that for me.


The therapist asked us if we spend a lot of time together.

I told her how he stays up talking to me till 2am

and those days he lingers in my bed with his

hands curled around my waist.

We don’t go on dinner dates,

but we like ordering pizza, and more, and more.

We build walls around us with empty pizza boxes.


We’re spontaneous too.

Just last weekend we got drunk

and dyed our hair different colors.

I keep telling him that I’m trying to find who I am.

He tells me not to worry about it because I am him

and we’re a team and

there’s no such thing as “just me”.

I promise it's not one of those relationships.

He’s not overprotective; he’s just caring.

He calls me beautiful too;

says the shade of sadness looks so good on my lips

because it creates a silhouette of a smile.


She asked me about our sex life.

His kisses taste like anxiety attacks and blades

and his hands hold me like razors,

but he said that love was supposed to like that;

taught me that this was what making love was like:

empty people making each other feel less vacant.

He always says he loves me though,

but perhaps he didn’t truly mean it.

Maybe he is just a reminder of

the people I used to love.


She sighs, clicks her pen, and spits the words,

“Maybe he doesn’t want you to leave.”

I come to a record-scratch stop

as the idea echoes in my skull.

To leave, to leave, to leave.


My father left me.

I remember he always said he would

scream at me out of love.

I think him and Depression

share the same tongue.


She shuts her notebook and speaks,

“I think we’ve found the root of the problem.”


Cover Image Credit: Volkan Olmez

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Why I'm Actually Afraid Of Spontaneous Death At 20 Years Old

I can't just ignore it, right?
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On Thursday, February 1st, my mother found me unconscious. It was only three weeks after being told I was not receiving a heart transplant anytime in the near future.

My artificial heart was alarming, but not pumping. The only thing I remember was waking up in the ambulance, without a single clue as to what was going on.

This is what I'm really afraid of.

I'm afraid of not knowing what's happening, and dying and not knowing that I am. I'm afraid of being lost in my mind again, with those nightmares of choking, of not being able to breathe because I'm stuck underwater.

Those dreams that were at one point in my life whimsical and fun, now terrify me. There are nights when I wake up completely out of breath, nights where I wake up softly crying in fear that I'll never see my family again.

I know those are just nightmares, some of my worst fears manifesting themselves in my sleep. Some of my worst fears are those that don't show up anywhere. Fears that I pray that, If I just ignore them, they'll go away.

It doesn't work like that.

I worry that when I die, I'll only be remembered as that girl whose life was saved by modern science.

I am not that girl.

I am Breanne.

I loved piercings, tattoos, and men that were awful for me. My sense of style often made my family cringe, but my grandmother was my best friend. She never judged me or my decisions.

My sister was my partner in crime, always involving me in activities that Mommy would yell at us for later. My other half was a female to male transgender, and goddamnit if I wasn't proud of him for it.

My father and I were never really good at communicating, but we tried our hardest nonetheless.

I fell in love with fictional characters. I submerged myself in music that brought me to life.

I sang like no one else was listening, and I always tried my hardest to make my finished product come to life.

On Thursday, February 1st, my mother found me unconscious, only three weeks after being told I was not receiving a heart transplant anytime in the near future. My artificial heart was alarming, but not pumping.

The only thing I remember was waking up in the ambulance, with the fear that I was going to die.

When we arrived at the hospital, I laid in the observation room. I waited for my family. I waited for the doctors to tell me what had happened and whether or not I was okay.

My biggest fear was dying in that hospital, only as the girl with the plastic heart and not as Me.

My name is Breanne Dayton. I was born on February 15th, 1997. I received a heart transplant in 1998. I received a Total Artificial Heart implant in 2016.

I am afraid of being forgotten.

Cover Image Credit: Pexels

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