Who I was. 

The poe, minuscule, pail boy in the photo looked scared. He faked a smile, the way he faked a life. He was wearing his “straight attire” which consisted of his favorite Champion shirt. Pretending to be someone you are not is a suffocating experience, you can ask him. He wasn’t living. He was just enduring this facade he put on every day. It was depressing. He was depressing. I was depressing. 

Raymond, the innocent child, an old soul, tried to take his life two weeks after this photo was taken. If his principal hadn’t stopped him in the hallway, he wouldn’t be here today. While talking with the principal, tears slithered down the oily, pale face as he broke down. All the emotions that I bottled up erupted like a volcano destroying everything in its path. It was broken. He was broken. I was broken. 

The photo was taken in art class in 8th grade. This was me at my lowest. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t even want to be alive. I was so tired. So tired of pretending that I was fine when I was not. Struggling to exit my bed every day was the worst. My body was tied to my bed with chains. Chains held by my depression that held me hostage to my bed. So when I tell you I’m tired, it's the ball and chain around my ankle that I drag around all day. The way I move slowly reserving what little energy I have left to fight the war between my heart and mind. It was exhausting. He was exhausted. I was exhausted. 

They say eyes are the gateway to the mind. When you see my eyes in that picture, what do you see? Do you see my poor little sad eyes? Do you see the way the smile tries to creep across my face? Do you feel pity for the boy in the image? Or did you not even notice? 

Depression is a silent film. A monologue shot underwater. A world in slow motion with no sound. I felt as though I wasn’t living. Staring into space and trying not to cry became my favorite pastime. I was doing just that in the photo. My eyes became like a dam and acted like a floodgate halting the tears from running wild. This occurred every day for two years straight. It was my life. It is no longer my life. 

Four years later, I’m still here. It is weird because I never saw myself living this long. I didn’t see myself graduating high school and going off to college. But now I am. I survived and healed. One of my favorite quotes is “Healing is not a linear line.” This reminded me that there is no such thing as a magical fix and that there would be setbacks. But I survived. Somehow I always do. 

The boy in the photo is gone. He has been replaced by a magnificent young man who has so much going for him. The boy in the photo is now the president of the Special Olympics as well as the NAMI club. He is a member of NHS who also works part-time during the school year. He is a student ambassador for educational equity and social justice. He now has an amazing group of friends and his supportive mom as always. He saw that light at the end of the tunnel and ran for it. He ran. Ran until his legs gave out and he entered that light. He was brave and battled those demons that so desperately wanted to break him. Trying to grab his ankles and pull him back into the darkness. But he fought them and won. He did that. I did that. 

Recovery is possible, but it is work. Hard work sometimes makes you lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel. But it’s there, you just have to keep going. So when I look back on this photo I see who I was. I see a ghost of the person who I am today. This photo serves as a reminder of how far I’ve come. So while everyone else hates pictures of themselves from middle school, I don’t. It is a reminder. A reminder that recovery is possible. I always say the bravest thing I did was continue my life when I wanted to die. So when you look at that poe, minuscule, pail boy in the photo, don’t feel sorry for him. Be proud. Proud that he survived. I survived.