i. it’s freshman year and a group of girls are talking in the corner of the room before class starts. “tim's on antidepressants” one of them says. "he got really bad this summer." another girl laughs and goes, “well, i’m glad i broke up with him when i did, then.” i want to go over there and ask what it is about depression that makes somebody inherently undateable but the bell rings before i can work up the nerve.
ii. later that year, my best friend shows me the scars on her arms. "i'm doing better now," she says, when i ask her if she's alright, if she needs somebody to talk to. "i've stopped now. i'm better." i say that i believe her but her eyes say that she's lying.
iii. sophomore year, i'm talking with a friend after rehearsal when she glances at her phone and bursts into tears. in between sobs she tells me that her best friend killed himself and i tell her that she can't blame herself, but she just says "but i knew he needed help. i knew he needed help and i didn't tell anybody because he told me not to." i keep hugging her and drive her home and promise to help her get her car later. when i get home, i call my best friend, the one with the scars on her arms, and ask her how she's doing. the two of us cry on the phone for hours.
iv. the school brings in grief counselors the next day. they talk about depression and suicide and the importance of speaking up if you or a friend needs help. some people squirm uncomfortably in their desks. some people stare at the floor. there is a ghost in the room and nobody will speak his name.
v. the summer between sophomore and junior year is hard. i have no motivation, no drive. i can't sleep, but i do nothing but stay in bed all day. i feel numb, and if i'm not numb i'm heart-achingly sad. i tell a friend and she says, "lots of us feel that way. only some of us are brave enough to talk about it to try and find a solution." i know immediately that i am not brave enough. maybe not now, maybe not ever.
vi. at the beginning of junior year, we do a team building exercise in one of my classes. "what's the thing you're most proud of?" our teacher asks. tim raises his hand and says "i didn't kill myself last year." everybody shifts nervously, and one kid chuckles softly. "i wasn't kidding," tim says, voice heavy. "i was on meds and going to therapy and everything, and it was still hard."
vii. one day, we have a discussion in english. our teacher asks us if we think the successes in life outweigh the failures. a girl raises her hand and says, "if you count the little victories, the successes win. i got out of bed this morning. i took a shower this morning. i had a good breakfast. i've remembered to drink water. i made it to school safely and when i got here i realized that i actually wanted to make it here safely." my teacher is silent, but a boy in the back laughs and says "those don't count." the girl whips around and stares him down with ice in her eyes. "they count if you want them to. they count if they were things you once couldn't do. they count if you spent the better part of the last two years wishing you wouldn't actually make it to school the next morning. they count if at one point, things got so bad that you couldn't do anything for weeks on end." the boy is silent, and half of the class mentally thanks the girl for saying what we could not say ourselves.
viii. it's new year's eve and we're all kind of drunk when somebody goes "does it ever get better?" and another person answers "it gets easier when you realize that two steps forward and one step back is not necessarily a losing battle." i feel the demons in my mind scatter a little bit at the thought.
ix. when we go back to school after break there's another group of girls talking in the corner before class begins. "she's never going to get a date to prom," they laugh. "she's back on antidepressants and is such a debby downer." i want to go up to them and confront them. this time, i do.
