My journey and why video games help My name is Michael. I am no stranger to adversity in life, as I suffer from mental illness. I have almost died from mental illness and addiction. Depression, anxiety, and Post-traumatic Stress Disorder have occupied big parts of my life for decades now. There are many ways, both good and bad, that I have found to cope with my illness. After decades of struggle and through trial and error, I am continuing to seek new ways to cope with depres

Why Functioning Labels Are Harmful The discourse around autism tends to be typified by extremes. On one end is a child with severe social difficulties, sensory processing issues, and intellectual disability. On the other end of the spectrum is the popular conception of the eccentric savant. The person who —while odd, off-putting, and often seen as less than worthy— makes up for these perceived negative traits by being so good at one particular thing that their genius is seen

I am 17. My alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m., and I dread the next hour of my life. While most of my classmates are still asleep, I sit cross-legged in front of my full-length bedroom mirror and begin the painstaking process of covering the skin I had picked, squeezed, and cut into with cheap drugstore makeup. It’s a tedious process — camouflaging my skin so that I can hide in the hallways of my high school. I want to be invisible.

Grief, Guilt, and the Aftermath of Suicide Trigger Warning: The following article discusses suicide, which readers may find distressing. For over a decade I lived and worked across Europe in the travel industry, from summer campsites to snowy ski resorts. I took on many different roles from tour guide to resort manager, met people from all over the world and absorbed the richness of different cultures. Those years shaped who I am and gave me a love of people’s stories, which

A year ago, my world stopped. At my 12-week scan, I was told there was no heartbeat. What should’ve been the first time seeing my baby move was instead the day I learned I’d lost them weeks earlier. I remember the quiet in the ultrasound room, the cold gel on my stomach, the way the sonographer’s expression shifted before the words came. Even now, I can still feel the shock in my chest — that hollow, slow-motion moment when time folds in on itself.

When I was fifteen, my room’s walls were swirls of green and yellow, which my mother had done because she knew I loved green and yellow. I had these Skull Candy headphones around my head, connected to a pretty pink phone, all gifts from my mother, and it was one of those summer afternoons when I was fast asleep. I was tired from school, fed a very generous and delicious lunch by my mother, and I was too sluggish to care.    My mother walked into the room, and she found me asl

From an early age I was obsessed with making people laugh. Inspired by Lucille Ball, I took every performance opportunity I could find. My elementary and middle school yearbooks are peppered with commentary by teachers and friends encouraging me to follow my dreams of acting and not to forget them when I am a famous comedian. Then, when I was in 10th grade, in the midst of rehearsals for our school musical Pippin , I was hit by a car crossing a street in Westport, Connecticut

I’m a 39-year-old neuroscience and psychology graduate, freshly finished with my MSc at King’s College London. My story begins in 2020,...

The wooden pier stretched ahead in the morning sunlight, its tip a distant dot poking out against the sea. We followed the stream of backpacks single-file like a line of ants, the wind lashing choppy indigo waves against the planks as we tried to keep our balance in its energetic embrace, the snail-like homes on our backs adding extra complexity to the matter.