Yoga Helps Clear the Mind

Yoga has been a positive influence on my life. My goal when I signed up for the class was to help improve my mental health. I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. With a crude mix of crippling anxiety and haunting depression; my mind has become a reel to reel that got stuck, playing the same sounds over and over and over and never turn off. The horrific scenes burn holes in my mind. They freeze me in my tracks. A deer in the headlights, but the headlights never turn off, they only indefinitely get closer.

In dealing with mental illness, I learned that it is like a war with myself that I need a cavalry for. It requires planning, patience, and work. Yoga has become a fighter in my cavalry in many ways. One is, being able to focus. As my symptoms worsen, so does my ability to focus. Yoga practice has allowed me to clear my mind.

The winter before my freshman year of high school my brother was in a major car accident and suffered a severe traumatic brain injury.

This meant he was alive and had full function of his brain, but he just could not move or speak. In simplicity, it is like a permanent sleep paralysis. Everything is moving around except for the sleeper. I spent the next two years taking care of him. I braved through the pain and moral implications of cleaning and feeding my older brother. However, I still maintained, allowing the pressures of high school to help me forget that my brother was dying.

Get quality help now

Sweet V

Verified

Proficient in: Yoga

4.9 (984)

“ Ok, let me say I’m extremely satisfy with the result while it was a last minute thing. I really enjoy the effort put in. ”

+84 relevant experts are online

Hire writer

It was my 16th birthday, in my Junior year when he died. My mom was out of town, so I was the one who found him. I remember getting his medicine ready, then noticing he had a blue tinge over him. His arm was like ice when I touched him. I checked his pulse -nothing. I checked mine, which read “98” in red. I checked his again-nothing. My heart sank. Before I knew it, the sirens came along with their lights. I went with the paramedics as they worked on him. I was hysterical and alone. He was gone.

The winter before my senior year of highschool, my father killed himself. After years of drug abuse and depression, he chose his time. The mixing of guilt, anger, and deep mourning after I lost him, is still with me now. Not being able to call, or hear his voice ever again still hurts, even after over a year of therapy. It is so hard not to blame myself for his suicide. My last memory of him was also a very hard pill to swallow. As next of kin, I was asked to verify him. The white blanket over him, or rather what was left of him, uncovered a few identifiable tattoos. The white blanket indented over his shoulders. These shoulders that held me up as a child, now held nothing. The image of him still plays over, and over, and over again in my mind. It can be quite paralyzing.

Out of embarrassment I could not admit to anyone besides the police that I had been raped. It hurts to think about, but I can still remember every moment. Every second of fear and torment is scorched into my head. I wish I could have kept up my grades. Having always been an extraordinary student, failure was a hard pill to swallow. I was so embarrassed. These were such big secrets. The secrets covered me in cement and allowed me to sink to the bottom of the ocean.