Mind Magazine

A publication devoted to mental health

 Letter From The Editor
I’d like to say that my college career was a time of
constant enlightenment, not just from the cours-
es I was required to take or the lessons I learned
from experienced professors, but from those
around me. My friends. A classmate I sat next to
freshman year who I’d end up bonding with for
the next four. The girl I randomly chose to be my
roommate on an online roommate selector, who
would become my closest friend and would in-
troduce me to a side of life and people that I was
once ignorant to. One of those elements of life I
had not acknowledged well enough before college
was mental health, and nurturing a positive con-
versation around it. Throughout these years I have
found myself in situations that mental health is
the root of, either through a friend or family mem-
ber or through a situation where I was a safe space
for a loved one, and was given the opportunity to
learn how to acknowledge, respect and support
someone’s health.
Mind Magazine was created to do just this. I
wanted to create a publication that is conducive
to both nurturing one’s mental health alongside
being an educational format for individuals like
me, who once did not place much importance
1 Mind
on the subject, or was simply just not educated
on it. I love that this publication gives a voice to
students, of all ages and academic levels, a safe
platform to tell their stories, express their ideas
and think creatively about a topic that is an essen-
tial part of each and every person’s life, however
often goes without much notice. Each individual
who contributed to this magazine has their own
unique experience with mental health or illness,
and the combination of each of these pieces
makes for an accurate depiction of this subject: all
people experience it differently, however it affects
so many. This is why I admire journalism so much;
journalism gives a voice to the voiceless, tells the
stories that need to be told and shines a light on
the truths of our own day-to-day worlds.
If at any point in reading this magazine you feel
uncomfortable or unsafe, please refer to the re-
sources below.
-Lauren Crociati
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741
UMass Amherst Center for Counseling & Psychological
Health: 413-545-2337
Thank you to UMass Amherst’s Commonwealth Honors Col-
lege, the UMass Journalism Department and Rodrigo Zamith,
Journalism’s Honors Program Director and Mind Magazine’s
Committee Member.
A special thanks to Carol Connare, Mind Magazine’s Faculty
Chair; I cannot thank you enough for helping me create this
publication, and for guiding me through with such graciousness
along the way.
 Table
of
Contents

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3 - “An Incomplete 28 - “How to Make Your

Guide to Taking a Living Space Conducive to
Mental Health Day” 17 - “A Letter to My- Your Mental Health”
self”
8 - “Mind to Mother”:
A personal essay
20-23 - Contributions 29 - “Your Brain is
of Poetry Beautiful”
12 - “My Battle with
Anorexia and Body
Dysmorphia”
26 - “Vicious Cycle”:
15 - “A Guide to Being A Short Story 33 - “Korean Pop
a Loved one: How to Culture’s Ignorance
be a Safe Space” of Mental Health”
 An Incomplete Guide to
Taking a Mental Health Day
By Elaine Lynders
Amidst increasingly difficult and competitive environ-
ments, whether it be high school, college, or the profes-
sional world, taking mental health days has become more
common, even encouraged, within society. Mental illnesses
like depression, anxiety and countless others are starting
to become less taboo and more widely recognized and
acknowledged. Nevertheless, they are illnesses need to
be nurtured and focused on with more time than a few
days off to focus on yourself. If you are suffering severe-
ly, there are abundant resources that will help you along
towards healing. These mental health days should solely
be an accompaniment, whether it be to a stressed mind, an
overworked body, or a path to recovery. However, the root
philosophy of them should seep into every day of your life,
and that is, put simply, to take care of yourself.
Mental health days can consist of a multitude of things,
but the elements of self affirmation and self nurturing com-
bine to create a good starting structure. First, start simple.
Tell yourself how proud you are of yourself. It may be hard
to just think or say aloud, so write it down. Make a list of
characteristics you admire in yourself. Write a diary entry
about the good things in your life. Think about the people
or person in your life who love you completely.
3 Mind
Photo Credit: Lauren Crociati
Take a picture of yourself that you really like, or draw
yourself in a mighty pose, maybe even strike that pose
yourself. Try walking confidently a few times across the
room. Play a song that makes you feel empowered and sing
along, serenading yourself. You might cringe at yourself the
first time, but no one else is watching; it’s just you. Dance,
if you feel like it. Meditate for a few minutes. A simple way
to do it is pick a mantra, just one simple word that makes
you feel good about yourself, and repeat the word over and
over again in your mind while you breathe slowly and close
your eyes. Starting off your day with positive thoughts will
increase your motivation throughout the day.
In between these spaces of self affirmation, it’s important
to be doing things with your day that are nurturing to your
body as well. This should include a good sleep the night
before and three healthy meals during the day. Take the
time to cook something you’ve been meaning to try, espe-
cially if it is a healthy option, but, of course, comfort food
is always good for the soul. Self nurturing could also mean
going outside, either for a walk, a run, or just to sit. Natural
sunlight can improve your mood and leaving the comfort
of your residence can give you a sense of accomplishment.
Exercise in a way that makes you feel best, and don’t feel
pressured to do what everyone else is. Try slow luxurious
yoga, an intense cardio session, a relaxing swim, a peace-
ful bike ride, or even just a few stretches. Do something
that you love, or that you haven’t done in a while. These
moments are also a good time to reflect on what particular
aspect of your life has spurred you to want to take a men-
tal health day. Is it because you’re stressed, overwhelmed,
burnt out, or unsatisfied? Pinpointing what exactly you’re
struggling with can shape what will be important to the type
of mental health day you have. That could mean removing
all social media, shutting down your computer, and doing
Being kind to
something that relaxes you. It could also mean connecting
with a loved one you haven’t talked with in a while. It may yourself is
mean getting an application finished or an assignment done
early that you had been worrying about. Whatever it is, any
task you set your intention for should be something that
always
makes you feel good, productive and refreshed.
Any choices you make for your personal day should be
beneficial, no
centered around what will be best for you at the time. As
you decipher what works, keep in mind that these days are matter what
not an easy fix. If you find yourself taking more and more
mental health days, the solution isn’t in more yoga or eating
more greens. These practices, however, are undeniably
form it is
integral to bettering the way you think about yourself and
how you treat your mind and body. They can be done in a
expressed in.
day, an hour, or a few minutes, as long as it’s a span of time
dedicated to focusing on you and your own growth. Being
kind to yourself is always beneficial, no matter what form it
is expressed in.

By Lisa Fotios

Mind 4
Photo Credit: BenStudioPRO on Adobe Stock
Mind
to
Mother
By Brianna Parker

Photo Credit: Marketplace Designers on Canva

 My mom was just the person
anyone would aspire to be.
My grandmother has recounted a story numerous
times about my mom as a baby. She recalls peeking her
head from the kitchen to see my mom with a tear running
down her cheek. “Casper the Friendly Ghost” was on tele-
vision, and my little mother was immersed in an episode
where the other ghosts are being cruel to Casper. My
nana typically ends the story with, “I thought, wow, this is
a very smart child.” Whenever I brought up this story to
my mom, she would say, “I could still cry about it. They
were so mean to Casper!” This kind of sensitivity and
concern for others would be an innate part of my mom
for her entire life. She was unconditionally maternal to all.
Brilliantly thoughtful. Glamorous in all areas of life.
Wounds never seemed to leave her, or rather,
she never seemed to leave them.
Of course, there was always the ski-slope nose and the
big, dark eyes, and a penchant for staying up late and
starting the day at 4 p.m. I never realized just how much
my mother was engrained in me until she passed away.
My mom was just the person anyone would aspire to be.
She was also sensitive, perceptive and thoughtful - all
great qualities - but to the bone. Wounds never seemed
to leave her, or rather, she never seemed to leave them.
Whether it was that sinking sensation of not feeling
enough, or the guilt of hurting others because of a family
secret, she kept a well wrapped package of sadness in her
heart. Nevertheless, she was cheerful to all. She never
let her own worries and woes get in the way of lending
her ear to others - not only her ear, but her entire heart
and her intrinsically empathetic being. Aside from select
grouchy moments before coffee was poured—an inheri-
tance of mine, too - she was living kindness. On her death
bed, she groggily requested a sip of water or the adjust-
ment of a pillow with the tone of Snow White speaking
to creatures of the forest. I was especially lucky to be her
daughter, but it did not matter if I was her daughter or a
neighbor she rode the elevator with every once in a blue
moon. Everyone who got a glimpse of her big blonde hair,
or the soft whiff of Magie Noire perfume felt the warmth
of the sun lit in her heart.
Before I was born, my mom saw a psychologist multi-
ple times a week. Actually, she initially reached out for
a psychologist to see my sister because of her wicked
toddler tantrums, but she was quickly advised that maybe
she should be the person lying on the sofa. I believe there
were certain aspects of my mom’s childhood that broke
her heart from the start - divorced parents, a vagabond
father and an innate responsibility to mother her own
mother and anyone else who was lovingly a part of her
life. Some individuals deal with the repercussions of life’s
misfortunes and quickly turn the page, trudging forward
and looking away as unavoidable wounds heal. As long
as people get divorced, as long as families function, as
long we have hearts and minds - these low sensations
are bound to arise. Others, like my mother and myself,
meditate on these wounds so deeply that they turn into
inherent parts of our being. What was especially remark-
able about her was that, despite the internalization of her
life woes, she never projected them onto others. Instead,
she carried her inner hurt like a velvet handbag and served
as an infinite source of support and empathy to those she
loved.
My childhood merrily continued for the most
part, but within, I dealt with great
self-created chaos.
After a few nightmares and other skittish behavior post
my experience with 9/11, I too went to see the same psy-
chologist my mom went to over a decade before I existed.
I saw her for a little while in pre-school, stacking Legos to
resemble the towers and knocking them down. I suppose
the nightmares subsided, and my memory of the tragic
day began to fade. My childhood merrily continued for
the most part, but within, I dealt with great self-created
chaos. The word anxiety can be a buzz word, but it also
Mind 8
 serves as a title for this old “friend” set me, and how that was indicative that same support.
that I have grown to know so well. of my relationship to myself. I am a gravely nostalgic being. It
The feeling that pulsated through is easy and natural for me to start
my small body was as tight as a rope, I am a gravely talking about the past. During these
heavy as a skyscraper. It would sting nostalgic being. conversations with my mom, it
when I stood underneath basketball was apparent to her that on top of
hoops at recess hoping to get hit by I recall voicing my frustration over the inner sufferings 9/11 may have
a ball—getting hurt sounded better friends who piled their problems inspired, I was also, quite simply, a
than being alone. It would rile up on me. Instead of providing empty sensitive person regardless. I let the
and fill up my throat when I had to advice about why these people were rejection of friends in my early child-
go to the restroom by myself after not worth my friendship—they were hood dictate how I socialized in my
overhear- young adulthood.
ing fellow I let brutally
first-graders meaningless and
talk about juvenile romantic
the legend of encounters as
Bloody Mary, a young adult
so I refused deeply affect my
to go alone. sense of self. I
I would out- held the feelings
grow these of unsafety and
particular fear in my own
struggles, being, and even
but com- though I grew
bined with up to no longer
the classic stand under
burdens of basketball hoops
adolescence, and require a
anxiety made bathroom com-
a new friend: panion, those
depression. trappings have
While the infringed upon
majority of my ease of self
the world be- for as long as I
gan to reach can remember.
R.E.M., my My mom
mom and I always told me
Photo Credit: Valentey on Adobe Stock
would be in that it is so very
our can- important to
dle-lit living worth it, they’re human after all—she release all of these
room. With a black and white movie emphasized my resistance to open sufferings, the shallow and the deep,
on in the background, I was always up to the important people in my in order to enjoy life. She always,
inspired to tell her what was on my life. always emphasized that not releasing
mind because, as mothers often these feelings or events that haunted
have, of her innate understanding There was no reason to hold me would just create more harmful
of my inner world. I am especially onto any of the inevitable hurt patterns in my life. I was talented
gracious for the empathic instinct a we all face in life. in analyzing every memory I could
carved into me. When I complained I was angered by my own emotional recall, and every instance of not feel-
of a draining friend, she could always utility for others because I could not ing enough imprisoned in my inner
assess why a particular behavior up- bear, by nature, to use others for world. There was no reason to hold
9 Mind
onto any of the inevitable hurt we all face in life—they but my toddler-self is hysterically bewildered by the sep-
had contributed to my mindful, caring nature and abun- aration. It is such a vulnerable, stinging loss to lose your
dant self-knowledge. I had to say, “Thank you,” and set mother. So much so, that it often shifts my inner world
them free. This was the mantra she repeated like a broken into that of a helpless, abandoned child. I’ve noticed that
record. As her daughter, though, I was not acutely aware after I wail and sob, there is a lightness to my organs, a
of the difficulty she had in activating this release to her softness to my face. In many ways, I am wholly disap-
own life. She would pensively gaze out of the windows of pointed that my Mom never felt healed within, or merely
our home, once where the grand towers that fell in horror laid her personal hauntings to rest. I lay in the dirt over
once stood. She would incessantly scratch her wrists, where her shell now lies, and the mega realization bursts
perhaps longing to dig into herself and remove whatever over me. I owe, not only to myself, but to my mother, to
deeply hurt her from her bloodstream. She developed love and forgive myself as I do to others, and to not let the
cancer, and, the enigma that will terminally haunt my depth of my feelings take away my ease of self, of life. If
family, is why she did not tell anyone of her symptoms. there is any solace in her departure, it is that.
She showered in darkness so not to view her decaying
breast. Eventually, but long overdue, she received medical
treatment and began a long journey of handling a disease
that already decided it would succeed in killing her.
When she passed away, my early experiences of grief
involved a lot of sifting and reading - sifting through her
drawers, reading through the endless pages of her writing.
Stacked in an armoire amidst a unique literary collection
were books about having a depressed teenager – there
I owe, not only
must have been four or five of them. The sight of these
books were an odd reminder of the dark place I was to myself, but to
my mother, to love
once in as an adolescent. They also reminded me of the
energy my mom put into understanding me and easing
my suffering in any way she could. I read through her own
writing for hours on end. Within these journals were bits
of a metaphysical children’s book—her passion—as well and forgive myself
as I do to others,
as stream of consciousness about her dreams and her
deficits, and once she was ill, mantras of how she would
inevitably heal. Along with my mom’s unique brilliance,
it was evident that she did not let anything go. Months
before she died, scrawled in the corner of a legal pad, was
and to not let the
an expression of regret that she was not a pretty enough
baby for my grandmother. depth of my feel-
My head rings with an image of myself as a
toddler gripping onto her for dear life.
ings take away my
Tough dirt meets the bottom of my sneakers with urgen- ease of self, of life.
cy as I near the headstone. The last time I was here there
was nothing but a cement block and some pink flowers.
Before me, her name and a dancing angel are inscribed,
as well as the title of the book my mom always planned
to gift to the world. It is a towering, regal headstone, and
its placement among a sprawling, shady tree is just what
would please her - she was always a lover of a brisk day.
My head rings with an image of myself as a toddler grip-
ping onto her for dear life. She insists that she must go,

Mind 10
Photo Credit: Igor on Adobe Stock

My Battle
With Anorexia
and Body Dysmorphia
By Olivia Banks
I’ve always stressed the idea that eating disorders and
body image are never just about food and weight—there’s
very likely an underlying reason for why they occur. It’s
taken me years to have the courage to tell my own story
about anorexia and body dysmorphia. I’ve refrained from
telling the full story to most people I know because it’s
painful and difficult to talk about it in person. Sometimes
I minimize how much I struggled, and sometimes I make it
sound like it was something I completely triumphed over.
So I’m going to talk about it as openly as possible, in the
hopes that this story will spread awareness and help peo-
ple who are dealing with similar issues feel less alone.
Because eating disorders are so multifaceted, it’s im-
portant to recognize where they come from. It took me a
while to figure out why I’ve always had so many problems
with loving myself. I realized it was because as a child, I
was severely abused and exploited by someone who was
supposed to take care of me. The gaslighting and manip-
ulation was probably the worst part, because I became
unable to distinguish abuse from love. I felt like I had no
control over my body, so I obsessed about it to overcom-
pensate. I would lie awake at night pinching my stomach
putting my fingers around my wrist to see if it was skinny
enough. Every day, I would ask my sister if she thought
I was fat. It didn’t matter how she responded, I would
always say, “You can tell me if I’m fat. It’s okay if you think
I’m a little fat. I know I’m a little fat.”
I wasn’t. But this became a daily ritual.
I grew up terrified of getting curves and being a woman
because I didn’t want male attention. I was very active
and naturally slim when I was younger, but I still felt really
heavy for some reason. People would tell me I was crazy
for thinking this, but I didn’t know how to stop. So, when
I was 15 and started filling out a bit more, I decided to go
on a diet.
I remember when I Googled “how to lose weight” on
my iPod touch like it was yesterday.
I started counting every calorie that I put in my mouth,
only eating “good” foods, and refusing to eat at restau-
rants. If I did go out to eat, I was paranoid about what
was in the food and how many calories it had. If there
was a calorie count on the menu, I wouldn’t trust it at all.
I wouldn’t be able to go to sleep until I had planned out
every single thing I was going to eat the next day.
I think people had a feeling I wasn’t doing well, but I
don’t think they knew how bad it was. I was leaving school
to get weighed at Boston Children’s Hospital a couple
times a month. I wore baggy clothes, made sure to eat
low-calorie snacks around people, and completely isolat-
ed myself.
My weight kept plummeting. By winter of my sopho-
more year of high school, my BMI was in the moderately
anorexic category. I kept lying to myself and telling myself
that I was fine, that I wasn’t sick. I legitimately felt obese
and could not see how thin I had gotten. I was so deep
in denial; It came to a point where I was used to secretly
doing jumping jacks while taking a cold shower.
You get to the point where you don’t think it’s weird
to bike 10 miles just so you can eat 12 frozen grapes.
I remember the exact moment when the switch flipped
in my head. One night, I ate a single bite of chicken for
dinner, took the rest up to my room to “finish,” and
flushed it all down the toilet. I could feel the weight of the
miniscule bite that was still somewhere inside of me, and I
spent the rest of the night sobbing uncontrollably and do-
ing sit-ups because I knew it had been cooked in olive oil.
I weighed myself in the morning, and for the first time,
I was not proud of the number. At thirty-five pounds less
than my starting weight, I was genuinely scared. I hadn’t
slept at all, but I went to school like everything was fine.
No one treated me differently. Why would they? They
had no idea what had happened the night before. They
couldn’t read my mind and they couldn’t see through my
baggy clothes. It occurred to me, right then, that I was on
my own. I could keep going and no one would say a word,
because no one knew how badly I was hurting. No one
could save me but myself.
I didn’t want to live like this anymore. My hair was falling
out, I got dizzy every time I stood up, my heart rate was
Mind 12
too low, I couldn’t sleep and my body always cramped up
due to lack of potassium. The psychological effects were
just as bad as the physical ones. I hardly hung out with
my friends; my anorexia was my best friend. I was suicidal
and moody. I always made sure to drink tons of water,
wear heavy clothes and eat a lot of food to fake a higher
number every time I got weighed by my doctor. This was
the stupidest thing I could have done, because it became
harder and harder for me to hide. No one ever used the
word “eating disorder” around me at that time because I
refused to hear it. I was treated for being underweight and
not the problems going on in my head. One day, my en-
docrinologist, mom and I had a very serious conversation
that ended with the phrase: “If you don’t gain weight, you
will end up with a tube down your throat.”
That knocked a bit of sense into me.
My mom then took me to a nutritionist who asked me if
I thought I had an eating disorder. I said no because I was
terrified of being hospitalized. She raised her eyebrows
and asked me again, and I remember saying, “I’m just tired
and depressed, and you guys think I want to fit into a pair
of skinny jeans.” The lady gave me a meal plan; I ripped it
up and threw it out when I got home. No one knew what
to do. I did not want help. I “recovered” on my own, by
binging and self-harming until I finally got to a “healthy”
weight at age 18.
By this time, I was old enough to buy over-the-counter
diet pills. I spent hundreds of dollars on vitamins and
herbs that would help me “naturally” lose weight, and
refused to take any psychiatric medication because I was
afraid I would get fat. I ate an average amount of food, but
my eating patterns were still weird and compulsive. I lost
my period for over three years. I occasionally saw some
spotting for a day, but nothing substantial until I was
almost nineteen.
I’m twenty-one now, and when people ask if I’m
recovered, I have a hard time responding.
The complicated thing is that my weight now doesn’t
always correlate to how I’m actually doing. Even though I
look healthy, there are still days where I can’t look in the
mirror without crying, and days where I eat too much or
not enough. I refer to myself as a recovered anorexic who
still suffers with body dysmorphia.
On my good days, which occur more often than not, I’m
able to step out of my comfort zone and wear what I want
to wear, and I can successfully challenge the erroneous
thoughts in my head. On my not-so-good days, I’m able
to go out, but not without extreme anxiety. Sometimes I
need to excuse myself or leave early. And as soon as I get
home, my walls come crumbling down. I’ll think to myself
over and over again, I can’t believe I made them all look at
me. I can’t believe how good I am at pretending this isn’t
so hard. It makes me feel fake. Because on my worst days,
it hits me like a ton of bricks and makes it impossible to
get out of bed, much less leave the house - and there’s no
faking it on a day like that.
I think people glamorize what it’s like to live with an
eating disorder and/or body dysmorphia.
These illnesses are really, really hard to live with, and
once you start spiraling, it’s extremely difficult to stop.
People can tell you over and over again that you have a
problem and you need help, but that doesn’t mean you’ll
believe them if you can’t see what they see. Also, you
don’t need to be underweight to have a problem. Anyone
can develop an eating disorder, regardless of size, race,
gender or sexuality. And, honestly, once you get to that
point, you will have a much harder time being the same
again, physically or mentally. I think a lot about the person
I would be if I never had an eating disorder, and I think a
lot about the person I was before I got really sick. Some-
times I think she’s still in there. Sometimes I’m not sure.
I wish I could say that I’m 100 percent better, and that
full recovery is possible, but I don’t know if that’s realistic.
Healing is not linear, and it takes time. What I do know
is, if you yourself are struggling, you deserve help. You de-
serve to live your life to the fullest. You are beautiful. You
are enough. You can do this.
You
are
not
alone.
Photo Credit: Lauren Crociati
 A Guide to
Being a Loved One
How To Be A Safe Space

By Brianna Parker
When we develop a close relationship with someone, or situation. While our gut reaction may be to voice concern
over failing grades or not showing up to work, these concerns
upkeep a familial connection, it is a human desire to want to
understand and to help when a loved one is suffering. Mental can easily be expressed as criticism. I think it is imperative to
health is often the maintenance of a primarily inner world. emphasize that you are concerned for your loved one’s well
Despite the fact that interpersonal relationships are built being, not the state of the institutions part of their life. With
upon an intimate emotional understanding, we do not always that said, the spaces in which people work or go to school
know the in’s-and-out’s of the inner worlds that belong to may not always be sensitive to the mental health of individu-
those we cherish. Every individual’s inner space is incredibly als. The repercussions of not going to class or not performing
nuanced; each person’s sensitivities vary. Mental illness is a optimally at work can be triggering in themselves. It is likely
vast spectrum. Many allow their symptoms to sit in the back that your loved one is aware of the stressful consequenc-
of their outer lives, while others are forced to face the social es they must face because of their behavior, and voicing
repercussions of the labels assigned to their life experiences. your own anxiety about their place in school or work is not
This spectrum calls for a keen knowledge, awareness, and productive to the situation. Many may feel apathetic for
sensitivity in ensuring the safety and care of those we love those consequences or cannot afford to worry about those
who suffer. consequences because of the struggles they are facing. With
Due to the spectrum of mental health, there are times when that said, while you may be worried for your loved one about
a listening ear and spoken kindness can soften the difficult their life circumstances, it may be most helpful to listen to
experiences of a suffering loved one. However, there may the symptoms that are causing these challenges in their
also be instances where the individual you care for is putting exterior lives.
themselves at immense physical risk. Spo-
ken word of self-harm or suicide should
always be treated as an emergency. I be-
lieve it is best to be attentive yet nurturing
in how you communicate with a loved one
while they are expressing these dangerous
thoughts. Even though it should be treated
as an emergency immediately after, panick-
ing or acting with aggression in the moment
can escalate a loved one’s thoughts and
feelings. Productive, helpful and safety-en-
suring actions can be taken after attentive
and caring expression takes place.
If you take notice of the important things
in a loved one’s life, like school or their job,
being challenged because of the depth
of their struggles, it is a highly sensitive By blackpencil on Adobe Stock

15 Mind
 Mental health can look different for so many, but for some,
the resource of therapy is an integral part of their lives. For
others, therapy may be a chore. Some people may bring up a
therapy session at brunch with a friend, while others may never
even disclose to their inner circle that they attend. Navigating
these conversations, or lack thereof, is crucial to be a support-
ive loved one. It is likely that you are aware of the level of com-
fort a loved one has in discussing their use of therapy. If their
sessions or advice given to them by their doctor is brought up
in casual conversation, I think it is best to respond in the same
way if your loved one was telling you about advice or clarity
they received from a parent, friend, etc. However, it is also
wise to respect that the act of sharing these sessions with you,
even if done with ease, is vulnerable, and that you should think
twice before asking about therapy in the same way you would
about their love life or their job.
Another important part of communication between you
and a loved one about therapy is to never seek answers about
what your loved one tells their therapist about you, or about
a situation relevant to you. Sometimes people are inclined to
ask if you have mentioned them to your therapist, or if their
therapist has offered them advice for a situation you perceive
to be pressing in their lives. First of all, it is not your business if
you have been mentioned in their therapy sessions. Secondly,
your loved one may have spent an entire night texting with you
stressing over a class, or mourning a breakup. I would not ad-
vise to use those moments to segway into asking: “So, what did
your therapist say about this?” It is wonderful that a loved one
is able to confide in you about the stressors in their life, but it
doesn’t mean that’s what they discussed with their therapist.
In fact, there could be something even deeper and darker in
their inner lives that they do not feel comfortable sharing with
you, and that is okay. Funny enough, it is also quite possible
they laid their head on a pillow, probably covered with a paper
towel for hygienic reasons, and talked about the weather for
twenty minutes of their session. You never know.
The same kind of nuanced sensitivity and attentiveness is
important for other aspects of mental health. In regards to
medication, some will swallow their medication right in front
of you, in the same way some take birth control or an aspirin.
Some loved ones may even ask you to remind them to take
their medication. Others may stick prescription bottles in a
drawer when they know they’re getting company. It is import-
ant to voice that it is okay to express that part of their lives in
any capacity they desire, or simply not at all. It is also important
to accept that expression, or lack thereof, and not conduct an
interview despite how transparent about their medication they
may be.
I may sound like a broken record, but the same awareness
must be applied to a loved one’s diagnosis. It may be surpris-
ing but a diagnosis can be quite relieving to some. It can offer
a validation of symptoms, or something to identify with. Of
course, for others it can be a title that does not contribute to
their sense of self, and for that reason, they may not advertise
that diagnosis to many people in their lives. Along with feeling
disconnected from a diagnosis, there is evidently loads of
stigma assigned to each illness. Naturally, it may be intensely
difficult for some to share or discuss a diagnosis because of the
surrounding stigma. It is important when addressing a loved
one’s diagnosis to gauge how they personally feel about it. If it
is something of relief or identification, perhaps express to your
loved one that you are happy they have found clarity in the sit-
uation, and that you will work to understand more about their
illness to your best abilities. For others that fail to express their
diagnosis, or communicate with shame, I suggest affirming that
you love this person because of who they are to you. Affirm
that who they are to you is their defining quality, not the illness
they have. Separating the two is important in this scenario
because it communicates that you can see their illness just like
any other, and that it is not going to inform who they are to you
and your special relationship with them.
The utmost important thing one can do as a loved one to
someone suffering with mental health is to accept that you will
never fully know how those you love feel. We can be empathic
and nurturing and understanding, but at the end of the day,
we are not situated in the walls of their minds - only they are.
It is crucial to accept this truth and to act with delicacy and re-
spect. Feelings of love, care, and concern are special, beautiful,
and critical to our lives, but sometimes they can be expressed
with such force that it can do more damage than good. Learn-
ing to express your love and concern in a way that is sensitive
to the issues at hand, and becoming knowledgeable about the
medical conditions of your loved one are essential. The next
time someone you care about confides in you, perhaps refrain
from the quintessentially polite, “Be positive!” or evoking faux
empathy by sharing your own personal experiences. These
interactions are often well intentioned, but can feel insincere to
those seeking your attention. Sometimes it is best to just listen
- to validate that how your loved one feels is real and true to
them. That is simply the best we can do - the best we must do.
Learning to express your love and concern
in a way that is sensitive to the issues at
hand, and becoming knowledgeable about
the medical conditions of your loved one
are essential.
Mind 16
Tara,
You felt the world today. You tapped into the source of energy
that makes the world spin, that makes the earth rotate around
and around on its axis, spins the starry skies and creates the
constellations out of open air. It was one of those feelings that is
much too complicated and awesome to describe. It was a mo-
ment where the dictionary of words, in any language or tongue,
does not have even a blend of definitions to match the marvel
of it all. But you felt the world. It was in front of you, all of it. It
was behind you, each bit. It was above you, in completion. It was
underneath, in between, swirling you off the ground into a daze
that lifted you. You weren’t floating, because you weren’t doing
anything. The world lifted you. And you didn’t have to allow it
to. Things like this you don’t give permission to. Because to give
permission, you have to have someone ask, have to have an idea
that something might happen. You didn’t.
How did it happen? How does something like this ever start?
With a book. You were engrossed in this silly teen romance novel,
surrounded by it. The space outside the inked 4x6 pages didn’t
matter, as it goes when reading usually. Every young love story
begins the same: two misunderstood teenagers who have pain
and real people emotions when the rest of the characters are
painted as emotionless and only silhouettes of a real human.
But these two characters, oddly, kind of represented something
in my life. Their situation, both physically and emotionally, was
something I could relate to as a girl in high school, something that
was real to me. That was funny at first, but sucked and warped
me back to a time in my life where things were really young and
beautiful.
But someone comes down the stairs at which the bottom you
were sitting, you become aware of yourself, aware that you are
reliving and redoing something, and become pink in the face, the
shade of embarrassment, and close the book.
You look up. You realize you’re sitting in a home of history. Not a
historic house, the location you give your friends and sadly more
importantly, your resume. No, this was a home. You look at the
pictures of the family with fresh eyes. Fresh understanding. Your
fresh eyes somehow become alive eyes and so do all the ones
staring back. You need to look at the home again. You need to
go into each room and feel them again. You need to look at each
couch cushion, each door handle, each sconce with this family
in mind. You need to stand at each window and understand the
view. Close your eyes. Touch it. Touch it with every inch of your
being. You don’t know why this is happening. You don’t need to.
You love it.
You look at each painting, understanding why all these years
you’ve been in love with art: moments as rare as this occur
and you can dive into a piece and be taken out of this world.
The frames don’t exist. Your eyes move, which aren’t really
eyes, they’re more like legs, allowing you to walk point to point,
moment to moment in the work. But as before, people come
down the hall and you turn a different shade of pink, the shade
of disappointment because something just ended. The frames
come into view. You’re put back on earth.
But as before, this world is different. You suddenly need to see
your own face. You don’t remember what you looked like. You’re
sure that something has changed, you can’t possibly be the same.
You look in the mirror and for the first time, you don’t see the
flaws. You don’t see the red skin or the little pimples. You don’t
see the greasy hair. You see the eyes. Small, alive, darting and
patient, but expecting.
You walk back to a window. You touch the world. You feel the
world.
In this moment, I realized that every single person has a story, a
tale, a sequence of events that combined makes a heart beat and
head tick. These kids in the teen romance book--millions of peo-
ple reading gripped onto them. Because each reader has a story.
It doesn’t matter if their story doesn’t matter. But it is one. And I
have one. I’m going to make it it one where every single day I feel
the need to write “Tara, guess what happened …”.
A letter to myself
Author’s note: I wrote this piece three years ago at the begin-
ning of my depression. I can confidently say that I filled my
journal pages with as much life as I could, despite feeling hol-
lowed and gutted, nothing and numb, elated and weightless.
Depression is confusing for a lot of people, but I promise the
journal pages won’t stop turning over and over with a little bit
of fight to feel the world.
-Tara Branch
Photo Credit: Lauren Crociati
Photo Credit: Lauren Crociati
 Two Halves of a Whole
By Isabella Pico

Reality is slipping away as my head hits the floor and my eyes shut tight.
Reality is slipping away as my thoughts become crushing and the weight of the world is too much
for my shoulders and so they crumble.
The world I have been exposed to has a poisonous bite and it is not one I saw coming.
The poison seeps into my head and whispers in my ears, “you can’t” and so I don’t.
When you try to suck the venom out it poisons you too and I may never forgive myself.

I am contagious.

But I look forward to the day that there will be no poison.

It will run its course through my veins and my body will fight it off with everything it
possibly can.
It will drip from my fingers and toes, still lingering but no longer controlling.

I will tell myself that “I can” and I will, on that day, I will.

I might have been contagious but when this poison is excreted from my body I will forgive and I will
heal.
I will apologize to you but you have gotten rid of the poison much faster than I have and I am jeal-
ous and I shouldn’t be jealous but how?

I have clawed my way up through this hole and I envy the people that had a ladder.
Not having a ladder is not better, but it did rip my layers paper-thin and I exposed myself to me
and I have never seen myself so naked and vulnerable and she let me fix her.

I coddle her because it helps.

I have “self-care” nights with facemasks and paint my nails and do my hair and my makeup and it
helps.
Being selfish is selfish but when you have spent so many days being selfless you owe yourself one
night out of the week to do your silly little facemasks.
Coping mechanisms will improve but for now she is content.

She becomes me and I am whole again.

Mind 20
The thoughts pour, but I cannot grasp them All of Me
They are sharp, and sting By Ally LaDestro
They are terrifying, they are fast
They are about nothing and everything.

I close my eyes and hope it slows, but everything just rushes, and I cannot breathe.
My hands shake, and I whisper to myself not to worry, but it is lost in the wave of everything else.
My anxiety crashes around my life.
My memories mold into agents of its extended existence.
My actions crumble under its pressure
My thoughts attack each other, attack me.

When I try to speak, to whisper about the pain, the words are bitten off my tongue
They come out only as chewed out fragments, spewing sloppily.
Anxiety is my malignant secret.
It is the poison that translates only to imperfection and deficiency
I feel all I can do is hide it away.
Tuck it beneath a falsified interpretation of flawlessness.
Conceal it with purposeful words and decaying smiles.
Push it so far down, perfection is accepted before defection can ever be detected.
It is a beautiful terrible lie I tell.

The thoughts pour, and my smile shines.

The feeling crushes, and my words spill sweetly.
I am swirling, pounding, drowning, and everyone’s smiles shine right back.
Most of the time, when I am alone, I can only think and overthink.
I stew in broken thoughts and fear that I did not lie as eloquently as I thought
And I stew in the idea that I am lying so much, I have become unsure of who I am.
And I stew, and stew, until I am boiling.
Burning alive.

And I wonder, who was I, before anxiety?

The answer is like erased words on a piece of paper.
I can’t make them out enough to become them, just enough to see that they were once there.
Sometimes my eyes get tired from straining to see those faded words, and I wonder if it is better to crumple the paper, and write something new.

Write someone new.

Write about the me, as I am, as I was, the combined total of both, for there is no me now without before.
I am me with anxiety and I am me without.
The truth does not lie on either side, but falls somewhere in the middle.
It is accepting this, the totality of both, that helps me to breathe when I am drowning, to slow the rushing thoughts, to accept and push forward.
Push forward until I can learn, ever so slightly, how to honestly and truly
Love.
Love all of me.
Because I am not flawed I am not defective.
I am not even perfect.
I am me.
And that is enough.
Words by: Kayla Ruiz
A Ghost speaks with my mouth, see with my eyes and lives in my
head, holds my hand over the flame, and cuts my hair. Like a genie
I scratch my skin to let it out, and it takes 3 things, my body, my
mind, my words. I let the Ghost live in my skin, my home, because
it leaves my soul untouched, we coexist in a haphazard way, she
drops the glass and steps my body over the shards, sets my hair on
fire, it’s not ideal, but the alternative could be worse.
-d i s s o c i a t i o n, Kay
It starts like the tide coming in
A gradual flow, then overbearing.
It starts with the smallest of ripples.
Until you feel like you are drowning on dry land.
Have you ever watched a person drown?
Never flailing limbs and panicked screams
Its being froze in place and Recovery is like getting out
It starts with the smallest of ripples. Of Hell.
Powerless and panicked It’s silent escapes,
You feel your lungs fill. Or walking backwards, defiant
Your body sinks. Middle fingers up.
And you float in a nightmare It’s being dragged back.
Turned flesh. By Furies evoked,
A memory of horror. And Bloody and weak,
It starts with the smallest of ripples. But still reaching for
-PTSD is a state of constant fear, Kay Mount Joy.
Its having Virgil by your side,
And Beatrice, your guiding light.
Recovery is getting up,
Going through
The coldest parts of Hell
Or high water,
No. It’s a constant Journey,
You don’t get to pluck That starts with
My Trauma You.
From Between my teeth -Recovery is not a straight line, Kay
Like an apple to sate your
Curiosity.
My stories are a torch of light.
They will illuminate the world,
When I say they will.
And they will stay dark
Because I say they will.
-My Tragedy Gets Told When and How I Want, Kay

Mind 22
 Orchard Blooms & Fiddle Tunes
By Lyndsey Ware

A cup of coffee so strong it can stand on its own… Resilience is a beautiful thing
My childhood days and southern ways You may not talk, talk, talk
Percolating, penetrating my cell walls & bones. But you can sing! You can sing!
Lone star soul, capturing all who dare enter, Deep breaths of chilling air
A positive feedback loop I’ve got ions and pressure tangled in my hair
That keeps me spinning on center, My roots don’t allow me to give up
My hips swinging cast iron hula hoops. Adaptation brings revelations
I hear it’s hot in Texas, Holy water and whiskey in my coffee cup
Thick air through which red tail hawks and I have flown We are all some sort of creation
Cactus pears and cedar trees rooting in limestone Organisms birthed from sand and mud
These orchid blooms and fiddle tunes Wilder than fire for centuries
Set a tempo for the snow. Now It takes a million images to join the club
I hold onto a few things, Adding insult to injury
Nutrients needed for my Spirits growth Willingly, ignorantly, fearfully
Governors that keep me from losing control Heartbeats picking up the tempo to “keep up”
When I read between the lines With a bunch of nothing we’ve made up
And can’t help but know Orchid blooms and fiddle tunes
The bull’s stacked high behind the curtains Do you have a website coming soon?
Our guts and projections blasted on every screen It’s a matter of survival
Not much is sacred, nothing is certain No longer clear in the waters revival
I keep most of me “hidden” in magazines priority is to generate rivals.
Not because I have anything to hide A water downed collection
But because I refuse to feed myself lies Of shit, bones, blood, and affection
(They really don’t taste the way they used too) A diluted mixture of decimals, fashion, data, and halfheart-
Oh, these orchid blooms and fiddle tunes ed connections,
Do evergreens and guitar strings Polarizing everything!
Envy you? Synthesizing haphazardly!
Can you recall where you come from, Our “sins” and fish eyed lens
Or what your host trees do? Buried beneath the snow.
Is your data on an old loop, only partially oxidized from all Only the orchid blooms and fiddle tunes
you went through? Have something left to show.

Author’s Note: This piece addresses a transition trying to take place, informed by being physically ill for extended periods of
time, stress, perspective and how that all plays into our mental well being.
Photo Credit: Lauren Crociati
Vicious Cycle

A short story by Virginia Lewis

Photo Credit: ZoomTeam on Canva

 She sat atop a hill, gazing into the sunset with glassy
eyes. Her breath flew from her nose in puffs of steam,
billowing somewhere in the air on an adventure through
the sky. She looked down her nose, watching each breath
take on a different shape, a different being, a different
story. She finally opened her mouth, slowly enough as to
not disturb the peace. She sucked in and blew out with
force, trying to make the biggest cloud she could. It be-
came a game. Some clouds were smaller, some were big-
ger, but each became invisible at the same speed. Each
stayed long enough to say hello, but left all the same. She
saw each cloud had somewhere it needed to be.
She watched the leaves rustle together and the branches
move to and fro in the breeze. The grass swayed from
side to side. She loved to watch all the peaceful move-
ments of the nature around her. She loved how she could
never hear a thing. There was no noise accompanying
the dance being performed around her. The lack of noise
would make any other person uncomfortable, but she had
finally gotten used to it. It had been years since the fading
sound finally went quiet. For the most part the silence
kept her calm, it kept her happy, it kept her warm inside.
She never even wished for noise anymore.
She began to watch a butterfly float past her eyes, flut-
tering its wings so it could glide around her head and fi-
nally continue on its merry way. A smile slid onto her face
as she finally relaxed enough to close her eyes. Her head
turned toward the sun to catch the rays it sent her way.
No noise came, but she felt the grass being pushed a
little harder than it had when the breeze blew. She could
feel the ground vibrate with footsteps. The animals
must be coming out to play. She lazily opened her eyes
and turned her head toward the field in front of her, at
the bottom of the hill. She watched as a bunny sprint-
ed across from right to left, leaving the grass in its wake
messier than before. The wind to her right flew with a
little more urgency, and she turned herself to where it was
coming from.
The wolves came first, running in the wake of the bunny.
She thought that the bunny might be unsafe in this uto-
pia, until the wolves ran past it without even looking. The
stated straight ahead with fear in their eyes. More wolves
emerged and then the deer, and the birds, and the mice.
They sprinted as fast as the could.
Then the clouds came. Black thunder clouds appeared
behind the horizon line, making a beeline for her calm
spot in the grass. It felt as if the cloud could think, like it
knew who she was. A thought entered her head. Maybe
this was where her breath earlier had gone. Each breath
found each other and created something far bigger than
she could ever imagine.
Each breath banded together to create an army to fight
against her, the person who tore each breath out of her
lungs just because she wanted to live. The burden now
on her shoulders, she found herself cowering against what
she created, even though there was nothing she could do.
All she wanted was to be happy in the sun, and just when
she found the peak of that happiness, they had to tear it
away from her.
She heard the rumble of the thunder before she saw
the light emerging from the cloud. The light was differ-
ent, though. Not shooting down toward the ground, but
aiming itself up into the sky. It shot up a million miles per
second, leaving only cracks in the blue paradise. Black
shown through the cracks and sped down toward the
ground leaving an earthquake to shake the world. She
stood to run, but was knocked down by each black mass.
The thunder continued to roar, the lightning continued to
strike, and the black continued to fall like curtains cover-
ing a window. No light could penetrate. As the clouds
prowled closer, she could feel the mist on the rain.
She got up to run, only making it a few feet before she
fell. Each step she took was another misstep, another trip,
another fall; before she was in the middle of a hurricane.
The wind whipped her hair in front of her eyes, her nose,
her mouth. She gasped for air while trying to run, but
couldn’t make it more than a couple feet. Even so, she
tried to escape. She tried and she tried, but the wind
ravaged her clothes, her hair, her confidence. The rain fell
at immense speeds, soaking her and drowning her. When
she was finally able to remove her hair from her face, she
could see the newly formed lake at the bottom of the hill.
Her utopia once again ruined. As she tried to run towards
one of the trees, she was hit by a black mass. It splintered
the ground. One second she was standing at the top of
the hill. In the next, she was sliding down toward the lake.
The mud and rocks scraped at her skin and only brought
her closer and closer to water. The mud hit the blue cha-
os and only continued down, while she began to float.
The water pulled her with immense force, circling the
center of the lake and pushing her closer and closer to
death.
She was being pulled left, right, sideways, down.
Mind 26
 She could barely tell up from down in the dizzying
encounter, but she fought to keep her head in air. She
kicked and flailed her arms just as she instinctively knew
how.

Her fight was not enough.

The water pulled her head under for the first time, then
again, and finally once more. She couldn’t find air. Her
hands would reach up and only find liquid. She kicked
her legs with all her might, but it still wasn’t enough. She
was quickly dragged deeper and deeper. Her lungs began
to scream and finally she took a deep breath. Water filled
her lungs and her eyes popped open. The pressure sur-
rounding her body tightened the deeper she went. Her
body was torn from side to side. Her limbs ached and her
head fogged. Her eyes began to shut as her world went
black. She continued to feel the water, but she knew she
was gone.
She opened her eyes to a blue sky and green grass. She
sat atop a hill, gazing into the sunset with glassy eyes.
She sighed, her breath puffing out in clouds, doomed to
try again. To finally have a full sunny day, but she knew
a bright sunny day only led to catastrophe. The vicious
cycle continued.

Author’s Note: This story was written during in the midst of a depressive episode I had been struggling through. I tried to
put exactly how I was feeling on paper and, after talking to other people, have found that this is a common feeling. I hope
this story will help people to see that they aren’t alone and other people feel just like they do. I also hope it provides some
sort of understanding for people who have never experienced depression or anxiety so they can better understand the feel-
ings of their friends or family. Being stuck in a depressive episode can make you feel like there’s no end in sight, but from
experience I know that things will always get better. Just know that you aren’t alone.

27 Mind
 How to make your living space
conducive to your mental health
By Megan Mentuck
Adjusting to college can be hard,
especially when the extent of your
personal space consists of one hun-
dred and thirty square feet shared
with another student. However, there
are ways to design your room to op-
timize its potential in being a positive
living space. A positive living space
is important in promoting a healthy
state of mind, which can make you
happier, more productive, and even
sometimes physically healthier.
Step one in optimizing the poten-
tial positive energy within your living
space is to appreciate your windows!
Opening up the blinds and letting in
a little sun can make your small space
feel bigger and promote a more pro-
ductive mindset. It’s impossible to ig-
nore the fact that you’re wasting your
sunday laying in bed watching Netflix
when the blinds are open. Natural
light also increases the production of
the body’s feel-good hormones and
for that reason, it increases alertness,
attentiveness and overall mood. Nat-
ural light is also instrumental in devel-
oping your body’s circadian rhythm;
opening your blinds at a specific time
in the morning and closing them at
a specific time at night can improve
your overall sleep quality by allowing
your body to stay in touch with it’s
circadian rhythm.
Another way to make your dorm
room, or any living space for that
matter, conducive to positive mental
health is to keep it clean. Now this
one sounds simple; but, it’s easy to
leave a pile of dirty clothes at the bot-
tom of your closet or forget to take
out your trash in a timely fashion.
However, it’s important to take twen-
ty to thirty minutes every once in a
while to put discarded outfit choices
back in the closet, vacuum the car-
pet, and keep at least the surface of
your desk clutter-free. Keeping a tidy
living space both reduces stress levels
and improves mental functions, spe-
cifically focus. This means that when
your room is clutter-free and clean,
it allows you to focus better on the
tasks at hand and it promotes a more
positive mentality.
My last piece of advice in creating
a living space that promotes posi-
tive mental health may seem trivial
or obvious, but I promise you that as
well as being cliched, it is also very
effective. Plants. Plants are an excel-
lent way to improve the air quality of
your room and brighten it up; both of
these things are linked to a more pos-
itive mental mindset. I’ll admit that I
have killed my fair share of household
plants in my own dorm rooms; but,
if you invest in a plant that’s easy to
take care of, it can make your space
feel happier and more inviting. Taking
care of a living thing can also improve
mental health by assigning a person
a purpose and it can feel rewarding
when that purpose is carried out suc-
cessfully.
Now, I’ll admit that maintaining a
positive mental health consists of
much more than opening up your
windows, decluttering your room,
and buying a few plants. But, I do
think that creating a positive environ-
ment for yourself is a good place to
start. As people, our mental health is
affected by countless elements of our
environment, most of which are out
of our control. So, sometimes I find it
helpful to consider what is in my con-
trol and I start with that.
Photo Credits: Canva Layouts
Mind 28
 Your Brain
is Beautiful
By Erik Vegeto
Every brain is beautiful. It’s easy to forget this simple fact, and if and hope of myself. I discovered that my mind in its essence was not
ill, but that something more superficial had reflected unfaithfully
you, like me, have struggled with mental illness, then you have prob-
ably felt some brain shame. Your brain is beautiful, whether it is plain the nature of my mind. My personality was not evil or ugly, as I had
to you or not. Everything your brain does ­from processing visual thought in my worry, but it was unique, misunderstood, and it was
information to understanding and empathizing the pain of other beautiful. There was reason for me to believe in myself again, and to
human beings ­is as beautiful as a sunset. If I can give you any advice step into the world again, with courage, as myself.
as a fellow person­of­mental­illness, it is to never let anyone or any Since this realization, I often get ready for bed early at night. I take
experience make you feel that your unique way of seeing, feeling, a shower, dress in soft clothes and allow my whole being to relax.
and thinking about the Sometimes I will ob-
world is ugly or unwor- serve my mind think.
thy. That is your own, This thing that used to
and no one can take scare me when I was
that away from you. unwell for its quick-
It is no secret that a ness, its jumping from
struggle with mental thought to thought. I
illness often leads peo- listen more carefully to
ple to feel intense and the natural progres-
suffocating feelings sions of my mind a­ nd
of shame and regret. I it seems to be making
had the omnipresent music, making solu-
belief that my brain tions, and appreciating
was somehow tainted in new ways all the
by my experiences, experiences of my day.
that it could do no It seems to be working
good because it had well, by nature. I think
failed me at one point new thoughts. The
in my life. It became wonderful workings
that the shame was of the human mind!
so potent that it itself Now I crave for new
was the obstacle to my thoughts that will
recovery. What could allow me to transcend
restore my confi- my current way of
dence? What could thinking ­for that, I
help me to believe in believe will ensure my
my own abilities again? health t­ o not be overly
I had to return to the basics, and remember the source. The stars stuck in thoughts, but always learning and being born anew, just as a
at night made me feel a certain way that was clear and visceral, like body of moving water will stay fresh.
a gulp of fresh air for my consciousness. I discovered that certain All things in nature can teach you about your mind, especially the
experiences were a kind of healing salve for my brain; they were wild, because your mind is the most wild thing about you. It’s the
things simple and true. I discovered that the source of consciousness last bit of un­colonized real estate in human civilization: because of
is like pure, unadulterated water, and I drank that water. Slowly my dreams, experiences and emotions. Love will always destroy your
thoughts and feelings began to reflect that purity, that original intent mind and rebuild it, so see the beauty in the world as you see the
beauty in yourself. We are reflections of the natural world, and the
29 Mind
more we reflect its health in ourselves, the more we become healthy Nothing is more important than being at peace with yourself. All
examples of nature. other things in life are built off of this foundation; for we are always
It’s important to keep reaching to fulfill the innermost sense of with ourselves. You must come to terms with the miracle of you, an
destiny which is innate to each one of us. This is the source of the encounter which, ironically, is facilitated by contact with the beau-
mind’s beauty, what some call the search for infinity. The inner life of ty of the natural world, the beauty of art and the beauty of other
the mind is rich and deep like the depths of the ocean or the furthest people. Often we cannot search for the answer within ourselves, but
reaches of space. Remember your mind is an ecosystem full of life, must find the touchstone of our souls in new experiences and loves.
connection and possibility, and that your mind is connected with all We shed off our old selves like a crab sheds off its shell. When chang-
else that occurs in the cosmos. We are not islands, as the old saying ing shells, it is exposed and vulnerable. Pay attention as you make
goes, but windows into a vast universe of possibility. Discover, learn, transcendent leaps, the movement of your mind is a natural process
expand, transcend. Become excited about the universe again. as beautiful as the changing of seasons; like the leaves changing color
and falling like snow, and the buds of new growth emerging in the
At no point was your mind not beautiful. It’s important to not spring. Allow your mind to heal and grow, and love your brain for
become alienated from your own thoughts or emotions even if they what it is: beautiful as all things that belong to nature.
do not serve you at some point. I know that I particularly struggle
with emotional sensitivity. Things that I think should only hurt a little
can hurt me very deeply. I used to become frustrated with myself for
feeling so deeply hurt at something when, rationally, it was no big
deal. But I’ve learned to pay close attention to these feelings in order
to be healed and strengthened. They are a deep call from within my
body’s intelligence to listen and learn. My mind and heart are not my
enemies, but my closest allies, the family of myself. This makes me
love my emotions and thoughts, appreciate them, and see them as
beautiful.

Photo Credit: Starglade on Canva

Mind 30
Photo Credit: Lauren Crociati

KoreanA cultural
Popexample
Culture’s Ignorance
of how talking about one’s mental health can be stigmatized
Stigma surrounding mental health
is debatably the biggest issue in the
psychological field. In the past several
years, the Western world started the
conversation on depression, anxiety,
and benefits of therapy, in order to
normalize discussions about mental
health. Everyday self-care exercises re-
cently became popular and its examples
can be easily found on social media in
the form of tips and suggestions, for
example Twitter threads. One might say
we still have a long way to go, but there
are other countries and cultures who
suffer from the stigma far more than
we do. This inspired me, as an honors
student at UMass, to focus on this topic
for my thesis. I’m interested in stigma in
East Asian countries, which are high-
ly developed in economics, politics,
tourism and entertainment. Yet, they
lack the openness in discussing mental
health. I’m particularly interested in why
this stigma is such a big part of their
culture, how did it start and what can
we do to eliminate it, in order to provide
more mental health resources to those
countries.
Before I get deeper into this topic, it’s
important to recognize that we can’t
33 Mind
of Mental Health
By Olivia Gebski
generalize their cultures as one and
the same, since they’re not. For the
sake of this article, I will be focusing
on only one country as an example of
this topic. South Korea is well known
for their business industries, technol-
ogy and entertainment. This article
will focus in on the component of pop
culture in Korea, as it has a lot power
in the nation’s society. It can also help
us understand common thoughts and
patterns of belief in Korean society, thus
give us an insight on how mental health
is portrayed in Korea and hopefully help
us understand why the stigma exists.
A great example of this is a popular
talk show called “Hello Counselor.” I’m
personally a fan of the show because
it gives us an insight to Korean culture
and their, often repeated, struggles. The
concept of this show is that common
Korean citizens submit their problems
and share it with the entire country, in
order to find a solution from the hosts
and guest of the show. None of the
hosts are mental health professionals.
In fact, they are actors and comedi-
ans. Their guests are also well-known
celebrities, usually there to promote
their new song, movie or show. There is
also an audience who votes if the issue
presented is serious or not. During each
episode, there are three people or fami-
lies coming in to describe their life chal-
lenges, which can range from addiction,
gambling, feeling judged and misunder-
stood by the public, stressed students,
or failing marriages. You might wonder
why would these people publicly share
such private and personal information.
A big part of this show is that the person
who wins the most votes (as the most
serious/problematic) wins monetary
award. There are so many flaws with this
show it deserves its own separate article
but I will focus on one. After the epi-
sode airs, we rarely see if the show really
helped anyone. There were few times
where the production team would bring
back past cases and they would tell the
hosts how much their life has changed.
However, this is pretty invalid evidence
of the show’s success. Hello Counselor
started back in 2010 and continues to
run on a weekly basis. After almost a
decade, there is no strong evidence that
those who are on the show improve
afterwards.
I know some people might argue that
having a show like this is beneficial to
the society because it shows that some
struggles are more common than we
think, which therefore opens up the conversation. That’s true,
all of this is possible. However, this is not the goal for Hello
Counselor from the perspective of the audience. It is, after all,
an entertainment show where you can win money and, despite
its popularity, it doesn’t break the wall of stigma around mental
illness. The show does have some promising concepts but this
would require several changes, for example having a profes-
sional as one of the hosts.
In Eastern cultures, self care is not as popular as it here.
That’s due to the difference of independent and interde-
pendent cultures. The Western world is independent, which
means that your identity is personal, it is your own, it belongs
to only one individual. On the other hand, Eastern countries
are interdependent. They share a collective culture, where
egotism is disapproved. Their identity is social, based on and
judged by others. This somehow explains why Hello Counsel-
or is successful and why it will be for a long time. Usually the
solutions hosts give to their common citizen guests are based
on benefiting not just one person but the entire family or even
a social group. For example, if a wife is coming to the show to
complain about her husband not helping with house chores or panies that these K-pop idols work for provide mental health
taking care of their children, the hosts would suggest the hus- professionals and other resources to their clients in order to
band to promise to help his wife with few things, while the wife prevent the same situation from happening again.
needs to promise to end her complaining. The hosts occasion- Some people wondered why Jong-hyun never asked for help
ally suggest seeking professional help, like go seek therapy, but or mentioned his depression. Many fans believe he had casu-
that is in rare occasions and it’s usually mentioned only once, ally talked about his mental health and how much he struggles
and then they’ll never speak of it again. but that this discussion was quickly dismissed. There seems to
be a fear around admitting to being mentally ill or wanting to
find professional support. For example, some individuals who
A big part of Korean popular culture is K-pop. Their idols do see a mental health specialist sometimes hide this fact from
create beauty standards and expectations on behavior and their families, friends and even insurance company. It seems
success. K-pop idols are often very hardworking people, that it is more acceptable by their society to attend a show
sacrificing years out of their life as trainees (which is their title like Hello Counselor than admit to seeing a professional. In a
before they debut, if they ever even have the opportunity to do society where working hard and long is essential, and almost
so) and continuously working on new music, shows, concerts, a norm, showing this type of weakness seems to be negatively
etc. This can bring a lot of stress to one individual, coming looked upon. This is a serious issue, not only for current Kore-
from their fans, family and the agency they work for. Cases of an citizens but for their future generations as well.
unhealthy diets and lifestyles are not uncommon, as well as The presence of shows like Hello Counselor and the death
suicide attempts from these stars. This brings up the case of of Kim Jong-hyun are just a couple of countless examples of
Kim Jong-hyun. He was a member of a popular K-pop group, how a lack of conversation about mental health in South Korea
“SHINee.” He was a talented vocalist, working not only on affects their society and culture. We often complain about
music for his group but also on his solo career. In 2017, a few limited mental health resources in the West, but rarely think
days before his solo album was to be released, Jong-hyun com- about the lack of resources and the discrimination of those
mitted suicide. That day he contacted his sister, saying his last who admit to have a mental illness in the East. I believe this is
goodbye. He died at age 27 from inhaling toxic fumes. Many only the surface of more complex issues rooted in their society.
fans, Korean and international, were shocked to hear this news.
Other K-pop artists and Korean celebrities paid tribute to him,
Photo Credit
reflecting on his work and who he was as a person - always
1: Dmitry Rukhlenko on Adobe Stock
smiling and wanting to make others happy. With sadness also
2: abemos on Adobe Stock
came anger from K-pop fans. They demanded that the com-
34 Mind
By Lauren Crociati