mental health

When reality as I knew it began to crumble, I turned to a virtual landscape to take back control. What transpired was a journey through a virtual reality – one that led me through dark times and loneliness, but ultimately, to my calling in life.

Throwing punches and lifting six days a week. Praying through vivid nightmares. Sobriety isn’t the finish line — it’s the fight you wake up to every morning. This is recovery.

After a series of concussions left me with debilitating treatment-resistant depression, I finally found a treatment that worked — but I didn’t hear about it from a doctor. I heard about it from a friend.

Eldest daughters wear a lot of hats: the role model, the parentified child, the mediator, the responsible one. Online communities like #eldestdaughter are building a narrative of support that finally recognizes the backbone of the family.

Growing up, my brother and I shared almost everything, but were defined by our differences: the wild child and the perfectionist. I thought I knew what ADHD looked like because of him — disruptive and impossible to ignore. It took a long time to realize we shared even more than I thought.

After my best friend died and my dad moved to a different city, I lost my connection to music. After years of feeling numb, I discovered Witch House music and finally began to confront my grief.

For years I believed escaping into fantasy meant I was avoiding my problems. Only later did I realize my mind wasn’t failing me, it was trying to survive the waves of borderline personality disorder.

Schools have been working to be more inclusive towards 2SLGBTQIA+ students, but many queer students have had to bear the weight of finding themselves on their own. Where do we go from here?

Anxiety has always felt personal, like something wrong with me. It wasn’t until I looked at the patterns around me — the planning, the instinct to expect the worst — that I realized it was learned.

As the gap between community need and government support widens, Winnipeg’s non-profit staff are caught in a violent undertow that is felt in every shift.

For as long as I can remember, my sweaty hands have told a story before I could.

Does skydiving hit different for people living with depression?