The following is a story that discusses suicide. If you have thought of bodily harm or suicide, please either reach out or contact the suicide hotline: Text or call 988
On September 12, 2023, there wasn’t a single grey cloud in the sky. It was warm and dry outside, with no moisture in the air. School had just started, but I couldn’t tell you a single thing I learned in class. I woke up late, and my memory of that day is hazy at best.
Because September 12, 2023, was the day that I fell asleep, hoping I wouldn’t wake up.
Getting to the state that I was in on that day wasn’t something that happened overnight.
I have struggled with my mental health since 6th grade. Back then, I thought I wasn’t “normal.” That there was something wrong with me for not being able to be happy all the time, to laugh and play like the other kids, to have the energy to get out of bed or do my work. I was in a constant cycle of comparison that made me feel inadequate. Like I wasn’t enough for friendships, opportunities, or love.
After years and years of this constant mental battle, I started to build up a wall around my heart. A wall that was so tall that it kept everything inside, so it couldn’t hurt me anymore. A wall that was so strong that it kept everyone else out. A wall that kept me safe from the world; safe from both the love and hate that came with it.
And for a moment, I really was happy.
I walked around smiling and laughing with my friends. I had successes and failures, I laughed, and I cried; I lived.
But after a while, it started to get harder to keep up with this public persona that I had curated. The walls started to fill up and overflow with emotions that I had bottled up for years. I walked around the hallway with a mask that was slowly fading. A mask that hid my anger toward myself for not being “normal.” My frustration for not having the energy to show up and work as hard as I wanted to; my fear of being a disappointment to others for not saying something earlier.
While the rise of social media has made the discussion about mental health education more normalized, it does not fully erase the negative connotations that come with being depressed. No one is 100% all of the time. And though we acknowledge that everyone has their ups and downs, there is still a social pressure to feel perfect. A pressure to achieve a certain amount, to believe a certain thing, or to present yourself a certain way. To be “normal.”
And this negative stigma is exactly the environment that made it so that I was afraid to speak out.
That girl crying on the edge of her bed at 11:48 p.m on September 12, 2023, folding a note for her parents the next day, needed to hear that it is okay to not be okay. She needed to hear that everyone struggles sometimes, but you should never get to the point where you are taking your life. She needed to hear that her mom in the room next to her would have listened to her problems and held her while she cried.
Because it is okay to not be okay, but it is not okay to suffer in silence.
On September 13, 2023, it was overcast in the morning. The chill from the clouds contrasted with the sun from the day prior. But as time went on, it started to heat up. I didn’t attend school, but that day I learned a lesson that will last me a lifetime. I woke up late and exhausted, drifting in and out of a state of consciousness as my body tried to fight off the meds.
Because September 13, 2023, was the day that I woke up.
