I’d like to discuss a brief part of my flimsy teenage years (so far). This is because of recent events that have brought back my last few years to the surface for me to evaluate and reflect upon (namely swapping schools). I believe proper reflection on past events helps us learn from the multitudes of mistakes that we have and will make in our lives. Almost everyone has probably heard the quote “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” – Thomas Edison. Though I personally do not live my life based on this quote there are various profound meanings behind his historical words. My personal experience has shown me that mistakes fill up my life, and through personal reflection – in this case writing – I can try and learn from my past failures and grow as a person.
In year 8 and 9 I experienced a wave of depression. It came quick and silently in the night, and lingered with me day by day, like some sick imaginary fiend. It shadowed my every step and clung to me, slowly dragging me down with its ragged breath and silent looks. It whispered into my ear dark dark things: You’re so ugly, it said, why do you keep trying? Slowly bit by bit I succumbed to its intimate words; it wrapped around me and inserted itself into my personality. I was lost for two years.
Over the course of year 8 and 9, I missed every second day, and on the days that I did come to class, I would leave early or arrive very late. My social life was filled with fragments of concerned faces and the common question: Are you okay? On the days I was at school I remember the concern being the highlight of every single conversation, and I very much wish that it wasn’t. It was like a constant reminder of my demon, no longer could I have a coherent conversation without it swimming towards the topic of me, Why wasn’t I going to school? They asked, I had no answer. I thought that I was all alone, that no one could understand my pain. They all wanted to know why; I realise now that it was only because they cared but at the time it felt like a solemn ache or a replaying track, it went on and on in its mono-tonal voice. I pleaded for it to stop, but how could it? How could they understand what I was going through if I never spoke, and when I did it was all lies, strained little “I’m okay’s” that ironically did nothing to ease there creased faces. Lying only drew me in deeper…
I crept into my shell and made my home there. It still has walls of suicidal wallpapers and dark red paint; though not so much as an assurance that I always had someplace to go but rather as a way to remember, this happened, this happened.
I remember feeling like someone with insomnia. Every moment I was not truly awake rather in a trance like state, attempting to numb myself so I would not have to feel the pain. But it did not work. Emotions became saturated on the darker end: Anger, Frustration, and Hatred; it filled my being; it touched the people I love now. I am very sad to admit that I did not love them at the time, but how could I love when it was torture just to live?
We travelled through these grim roads together. Side by side with the people that loved me unconditionally. They felt it, but could not understand. But how could they? The lies that slipped from my tongue, the crying promises that I made to them. “I’ll go to school” I said, and for a few days I did, but I always slipped again.
This roller coaster of hope then defeat left my loved ones drained (especially my parents.) It is a hallmark to the people I love that they kept believing in me, even when I fell more times than I got up.
Thanks for reading so far. I’m near crying right now so I have to stop.