Total 47 Stories

  • 20 Dec
    Shiva Raman Pandey

    Down Syndrome-A Motivational Story You Must Read

    down syndrom

    I have Down syndrome. I cannot speak or think as fast as you do, but I feel the things you do.

    I feel love and joy, when I do something nice or when I see that my loved ones are happy.

    I feel great when I achieve something, especially if it’s something others think I would never have achieved.

    I love it when I can outdo myself, because I have long stopped competing with others.

    I also feel sad, low and angry at times just like you do.

    I feel sad when people call me names. I felt sad and angry when I was not given any jobs and when I was bullied in education systems for the way I am. Even my teachers behaved differently at times. I was hurt and low when I feared that this was how it was always going to be.

    But should I feel bad for all this?

    I am still lucky because many people with Down syndrome are abandoned and not given the attention I was.

    A specialist in rehabilitation was sought by my parents and he really worked hard to turn me around.

    He was trained in counseling so he even addressed and understood the emotional issues I was going through.

    I told him my idea of not looking for jobs and instead starting my own business.

    It was challenging but I had help and it least I would not be limited because I spoke and looked different.

    He told me inspiring stories of people with the same issue in countries like America who were becoming photographers and business persons and athletes!

    So do I regret who I am?

    Not at all. Having Down syndrome means that I am slow in processing things, but as I take longer, I cherish.

    I cherish moments, I cherish love and I cherish happiness.

    I wonder how many ‘normal’ people can say that?

    Feel free to Ask any Question to Our Therapists.

     

  • 20 Dec
    Shiva Raman Pandey

    Body Dysmorphic Disorder-I hate the mirror

    body dysmorphic disorder

    I see all these girls look at themselves happily in the mirror as they get dressed.

    I am jealous of them.

    I wish I could face myself like that. But the truth is, I hate the mirror.

    I am afraid of what it may show me.

    Will it show me an inflated doll? Or will it show me a crinkled old woman?

    I felt like I am withering away, yet I couldn’t bring myself to eat.

    I felt that each morsel I eat could add layers to my body.

    I started to wear more and more loose clothes. I reduced to go out.

    I locked myself in my room.

    My parents were worried but had no idea what to do.

    They thought it was just teenage hormones, that I was withdrawing after a bad break-up. If only they knew.

    I started cutting myself. The pain would help me stop thinking about my body.

    I hated my body!

    If it was so horrible, what difference was a few cuts going to make.

    One day my mother walked in when I was cutting, and the shock on her face was unimaginable. I could say that she was really scared.

    A doctor came, and asked to hospitalize me.

    They had to feed me because I was losing essential nutrients.

    I was resisting because I didn’t want to put on weight. Then they sent a psychologist to me.

    I was very skeptical at first, but as I spoke to her, I realized that she knew what I was going through.

    We did a lot of art together, and she told me she had worked with other girls with similar issues, and they are not scared of the mirror anymore.

    Little by little, I got comfortable with my body. Slowly, I started to go out sometimes.

    I began my studies again. I didn’t hide in my room anymore.

    Today it’s an entire two years since I was hospitalized. Today is Diwali. I am looking at myself in the mirror as I get ready. I don’t hate the mirror any more.

    Image source

  • 20 Dec
    Shiva Raman Pandey

    ADHD-How timely diagnosis helped me choose my career effectively

    adhd

    “Pay Attention !”

    Pay attention, she said. They all said that. And they said it over and over again.

    Sit straight. Look at me. Pay attention.

    frown I can’t! I can’t pay attention. I don’t learn if I am sitting straight and I don’t learn by looking at you. I’m an energetic kid. I learn as I rock my chair, as you move, and I look at your moving steps.

    I learn as I explore and discover. I learn as I move around the class. I learn if you teach it in a way that I understand. But no one understood me. No one.

    For them, I was just a naughty child. A child who never studied and who always stirred up trouble. They always called me naughty. So I became naughty.

    They never taught me how I liked to be taught anyway. I mixed up with the wrong company, and  spent most of the time outside class. Things were getting bad.

    My parents thought of changing my school as a last attempt to resolve this. It looked like things would be the same.

    The first time I couldn’t pay attention, the teacher asked me if I was worried about something. No one has asked me that before. But I couldn’t talk to her.

    So she sent me to the school counselor.

    And things changed. We spoke of the problems I face, and she told me that many children have this issue.

    Children have many ways of learning and this is just one of them. Everyone does not like to sit down in order to learn.

    She told me what I had was called ADHD, but many people tend to give only medicines to their kids for this, and not actually work with them for better learning habits.

    My parents understood. We checked and the need for medicine wasn’t high.

    It was more important to work on my learning habits and to find a career for me which would suit my needs. Slowly, all the teachers and classmates accepted me.

    But the big question remained : what career could I choose?

    That’s when I realized what it would be. I was doing a charity event in my neighbourhood. I loved running around, making sure everything was okay. Before I completed one thing, the other would require me. It was perfect for me! So that’s what I decided to do. I went for event management.

    Today, I have the most vibrant event management company, and a very happy family. And I don’t tell my children to sit straight.

    Image source

     

  • 20 Dec
    Shiva Raman Pandey

    Bipolar Disorder-Mood like a seesaw

    bipolar disorder

    All of you are lucky, because for the most part, you can control how you feel.

    You don’t suddenly feel very happy or very sad. A constant mood is a blessing, a mood which only changes if something big happens.

    My life has never been so simple. I am an artist by profession.

    The ‘high’ moods I had made me paint without eating, drinking and sleeping for days.

    I would have new ideas, and I would paint one canvas after another! I thought to myself – wow! I wish I can stay this charged up forever.

    My paintings sold like crazy. There was no limit to the number of buyers.

    The sheer energy in my paintings meant that people from all walks of life wanted to buy them.

    The demand increased. Fueling myself with coffee and alcohol, I worked and worked.

    I earned prestige and a name. People knew me to be the whacky artists whom they couldn’t decide whether to love or hate.

    And then came the crash. A horrible, bad, crippling low mood.

    I had no energy. Waking up was a pain. Smiling was a bigger pain.

    What happened to me, I thought? My paintings became dark and gloomy, if at all I had the energy to make them. Very few sold.

    My contracts were going, my debts were rising. One day, looking outside my apartment, I decided to jump. I leapt. And all went dark.

    I woke up in a hospital, with a bandaged head and aching body.

    I discovered that I had fallen in a balcony of one of the floors below, and had been saved. I hated that. I wanted to end it.

    On the third day of my admission, a doctor came and asked me about my mood. I told him of all the glamour and high spirits; and about the crash.

    That’s when he told me I had bipolar disorder.

    The highs would be great, he said, but the lows would be horrible. “Get treated”, he told me. And I did. I don’t think I could take another low like that one.

    Medicines, therapy, art, music – everything helped me. I am still different from you. I’m not as much in control of my mood as you are. But I have come a long way. And I plan to go on.

    Consult A Therapist.

    Admission of Bipolar Disorder was not an easy task for Yo Yo Honey Singh!

     

  • 19 Dec
    Shiva Raman Pandey

    OCD and Childhood Trauma-Too much dirt in the world

    ocd obsessive compulsion disorder

    My mother was really proud of me when I was growing. I was given the job of keeping the house clean and tidy, and this was such an important task.

    Our guests would judge us based on how clean the house looked.

    I had 4 more sisters but they were not given this job. This meant that I was important to Mom and I was better than others on this.

    So I cleaned. I cleaned each day and for several hours a day.

    I didn’t go to school; we didn’t have that much money. I gave my exams through open schooling mode. Without any friends, I made cleanliness my friends.

    I loved to clean. Dirt and germs were my enemy.

    As I grew up, my exams became tougher and we got the help we could afford: a young college student willing to help me out with my studies.

    He was a horrible man. He did bad things to me. He told me that I like what he did. I didn’t! I really didn’t! I cleaned more and more, trying to remove all the dirt he put on me.

     One day, some of his dirt was there on my hands, and it just wouldn’t come off. I was about to chop my hand off because I didn’t want a dirty hand. “I don’t want a dirty hand, mom!” I shouted.

    My mother came running from the other room and was horrified at the sight of me. She was really scared and started to cry. She requested me to drop the knife in between the sobs and took me to a doctor.

     The doctor told me that I had OCD. But I like cleaning, I said, it’s my only friend. Along with the medications, I was asked to see a Counselor.

    We did a lot of art, and one day she asked me “has anyone touched you wrongly?” and I started to cry. I cried long and hard as all the hurt and dirt came outside.

    We slowly worked through my years of trauma and abuse. She told me my OCD could be related to this childhood trauma I underwent. She explained to me that cleaning was fine, but not to the extent that it harms me.

     Slowly, we worked on my urges to clean and now, I am in much more control than I ever was. There is still a lot of dirt in the world, but it’s not mine to clean.