The Hunter: Demonic Uprising. (Part- 2)

After the events in the mansion, Azerius and zero made their way toward a well-deserved drink. They both had things that needed explaining with the aid of some strong liquor. The cold was bitter as it kissed their partly exposed faces. The footfalls of their heavy boots crunched in the thick snow beneath. The dim grey light of a full moon only enhanced the beauty of the white covered town of Terafal. Only a few civilians passed them on that street, but none dared look at the hunters. Their long black cloaks and shadowed faces made for an imposing visage in such a place where everybody knows everybody...

The Hunter: Demonic Uprising. (Part- 1)

“Is there nothing more you can do for her?” She asked. Her eyes were weary from a severe lack of sleep and ringed red from the sting of tears. Her name was Tira. She was the mother of the child that writhed and screamed in a bed just through the door behind her. She spoke to a man. He was tall, muscular and looked far too rough to be in such a place. He wore a hooded, long black coat that covered him entirely. He went by the name of Zero, but she knew that this was not his true name. They stood in a long corridor, its walls lined with fine art and furnishings that only a life of opportunity would allow...

Relapse Prevention And Closing Thoughts. (Mental Health Awareness part- 4)

With my cognitive behavioural therapy and post traumatic stress disorder therapy over, I was honestly in a great place. I felt better than I had in very long time. I felt confident in myself and my abilities. I felt happy and capable. I had clawed myself from that dark place in my mind. But there still two things that concerned me; Breaking from the routine of therapy and relapsing. I was worried that without the weekly therapy, I would forget everything that I had learned and begin to once again fall into that dark place. That place where I feel unhappy, unconfident and alone. And so, after a quick discussion about my concerns in one of my final sessions, myself and my therapist decided to spend the very last session going over relapse prevention...

My Experience With PTSD Therapy. (Mental Health Awareness part- 3)

With the cognitive behavioural therapy finished, I was in a good place. I felt that my mood was better than it had been in a very long time. And with this, my anxieties dropped to almost none existent. (Which reminds me of something. When I first began therapy, I asked my therapist to make my anxiety go away. I now know that anxiety is a very natural and human thing. Anxiety is always there, in some shape or form. It’s something that is embedded into our system. What matters about anxiety is the level of it, and our ability to manage it.) From my CBT, I had learned many things and felt equipped to deal with my thoughts in a positive way. I felt different. I was me, but a different me. I felt confident in myself and my abilities. I felt happy. But despite this, something still lingered. There were still moments where my mood changed instantly. These moments wouldn’t last long, but they were intense and would often leave me feeling physically exhausted.

My Experience With Cognitive Therapy. (Mental Health Awareness part- 2)

As I sat in the waiting room, my heart pounded in my chest as I focused on controlling my unsteady breathing. I’d had many panic attacks before, so controlling one wasn’t much of a concern. Not even in an unknown place surrounded by unknown people. Luckily, my therapy appointment was very early in the morning, so I had forgone the terrifying necessity of alerting the reception to my presence. Yes, such a thing is an easy task for the majority of people. But in my anxiety-wracked mind, uttering “Hello, I’m here to see blah blah at blah blah,” would have been quite the challenge. And it would have been for a lot of people. Especially anybody else suffering with an anxiety disorder...

My Experience With Cognitive Therapy. (Mental Health Awareness Part- 1)

So, where do I start this? I guess the beginning would be a good start. But in truth, I don’t really know where it began. My problems happened so gradually that they seemed like a natural progression. Like they were just part of my growing up and part of me. And I guess in a way, they were. Mental illness is not something that we choose. It is something that builds. It builds ever so slightly until we begin to feel its weight. Then over time, that weight becomes almost unbearable. I think that this is something that most forms of mental illness have in common. But absolutely no form of the illness is our choice...