IN OTHER NEWS: Wasn't that guest post just amazing? I can't tell you all how happy I was to give Kevin a bit of my little spotlight for a while. As soon as he sent me the email, I was squealing like a little girl and immediately I put together the post. And then I did some coding (the blockquotes are no longer in italics, which was dumb, and they have a lovely little box around them (I'm probably going to change the color to red, though)) and some photoshop (I made that! I made that little picture of a feather drawing a feather. It took, like, five minutes. Jah, t'was awesome).
STILL IN OTHER NEWS: An annoying chore I've charged myself with lately is fixing all of my earliest posts: Bolding titles, putting poems in blockquotes, changing fonts, etc. etc. Hence, if you've been too afraid to look at the hideousness of my oldest posts, they're frickin' GORGEOUS now. I would know--
I made them.
MORE OTHER NEWS: My great-grandpa died Wednesday night, and I haven't cried yet (when my grandma's dog died, I was a wreck, let me tell you).
EVEN MORE OTHER NEWS: Man, I just have a lot to say. Anyways, I've been doing some fun coding edits with the header and such. If anything doesn't work, let me know (P.S., I'm still trying to work out linking the header image to the main page, so I already know that doesn't work.) (P.P.S. D'you like the new header image? The old one looks quite plan compared to it.
NOT OTHER NEWS ANYMORE (finally): I was at the library with my dad the other day when I saw a poster for a writing contest (I'm a sucker for writing contests. Seriously, I can't say no). The theme is "Seeking Freedom and Dignity," and the stories are supposed to be from personal experience. So, I wrote my personal history. For many of you, this is something about me that will help you make a little more sense of who I am (and if you already had a suspicion, good for you. I kind of made it obvious in my poetry). For those of you who already know, well, this is all how it really started.
As this is something I hope to get published, I want it to be as perfect as I can possibly get it to be. As I've said before, constructive criticism in the form of "Hey moron! You spelled 'the' wrong!" is always appreciated. Also, if you can come up with a good title, I will love you forever and shower you with gifts of praise and admiration, as I have no money with which to buy material gifts. Sorry.
I am very good at hide-and-seek, because I spent nine years hiding inside of myself. When the world looks at my faults as evil and wrong, I have no choice—had no choice—but to keep them to myself. I’ve realized that there is nothing I can do about the situation I’ve been given; all I can do is make myself better, and tell my story so others find their own strength. This is the thinking that has made me strong and free.
I was only seven years old when I first contemplated committing suicide. It’s strange, isn’t it, how we say “committing” suicide rather than “doing” it, like it’s some sort of crime. But to me, it made sense. As I’d been taught in Sunday School, children who died before they became accountable would go straight to heaven. So why risk it? I thought. Why waste my time?
I almost did it, but something stopped me that day. Whether it was my own fear of death or some higher power, I did not kill myself then, nor did I speak of that day ever again, but a dark seed planted itself deep in the back of my seven-year-old mind that day and slowly worked its roots further into my thoughts.
It takes only the smallest crack in a rock for water to leak in and slowly break it apart. Over years and cycles of freezing and thawing, the water within the cracks expands and contracts, widening the wound even further. This happens to every human being, as we all experience times of sorrow and hardship—we all get cracks in our lives. In the depressed mind, however, a seed of depression in the crack only adds to the damage caused by natural wear and tear. As the seed germinates and expands its roots, it further splits the rock apart from the inside. Eventually, the plant breaks the rock into pieces. So it is with a depressed individual: the typical sadness, and the not-so-typical, drives the mind much further apart, and, left unchecked, can end in total disintegration of the mind—or death.
When I felt that seed push itself through my brain, I did the only thing I knew how to do—I hid. I put up a façade of happiness and false living, because that was the only thing I knew. As a child, there was no way for me to know that I was “supposed” to feel sad. I can honestly say that this ignorance is what saved me.
As the years went on, the depression drove itself deeper and deeper into my mind. In 7th grade I was diagnosed with ADD, and it felt like my life had ended. I wrote several journal entries at that time expressing my desire to kill myself, and I drew pictures of myself holding a gun to my head. I, fearing detection, disguised the weapons as birds or flowers. Though I could not bear the thought of having such a stigmatized disorder, I felt more concern towards my parents. Anytime I entertained the thought of taking my life, the idea of my heart-broken parents drove it out of my mind. So I hid deeper.
Things happened as they always do. I went through middle school, played with friends, learned some stuff about life. Then sophomore year of high school came, and things fell apart.
I’m what the school system calls “gifted and talented”—I understand academic subjects easily and I learn very quickly. From second grade until ninth, I was placed in an advanced school outside of my local school boundaries, along with 30 other children my age—we stayed together all through elementary and middle school. This did two numbers on my social skills: it drove me away from the children who lived in my neighborhood, and it made it unnecessary for me to learn how to make new friends.
When the time came, I had no idea how to cope with a situation in which I was one of 2200 students in a local school, and I cracked. I had an enormous falling-out with my best friend of five years from which we still haven’t recovered, and I struggled to find a group of people to be around or even talk to. It was the loneliest and most challenging time of my life.
Despite all my troubles, it was not a great ordeal that broke my back; the suicide note emerged when my mom told me I couldn’t have some mashed sweet potatoes. That was the final root the depression plant drove into my brain. I did not disintegrate; I exploded.
What followed were months of therapy and rebuilding. I took the broken pieces of myself and redesigned my personal fortress, held together by loving friends and family. Yes, I still feel sad—sometimes on a daily basis—but I’m not contained by my circumstances anymore. I am free.
More than my own search for dignity, I want to help others find their own. Know this: there is nothing wrong with having depression. Please, if you struggle with feelings of sadness, speak out. Take control.
I spent nine years of my life hiding, afraid to show my true feelings, but I don’t have to hide anymore. I control my depression; it doesn’t control me.
I haven't really talked to either of my parents about having depression, because I was always afraid of what they might say or think. I'm so glad I mustered up the courage to have my dad read it--we had an hour-long conversation afterwards, and we were able to laugh about things I never thought I'd ever share. As I told him, I guess I was just tired of holding it in.
Have you ever had a secret that you thought you'd never share? You don't have to tell me what it was, but I'd be interested to hear.
P.S. Those of you who are really sharp will notice that I've said something about this before on this blog, but in a far less direct and honest way.
P.P.S. Andalus, the font in which my personal history has been written, is my favoritest font ever. c:
