From 10-20-2010:
Today has been an extremely emotional day for me. As I’m sure it has for many people. I have spent periods of the day in tears. Tears for the kids who didn’t make it to find out that it got better. Tears for the kid I was in high school, who wanted nothing more than to die. Tears for the kids who sit alone at the lunch table each day. Tears for the kids who are still getting pushed against lockers. Kids who still hear faggot and fatty (or whatever term is used) as they walk down the hall. Kids who are made fun of while teachers and classmates stand silently by. Maybe because they don’t know what to do. Maybe because the bullied kid in them is still scared.
I wish I could hug every kid today who wants nothing more than to die. I hope they know they will find a friend(s) who understand. Even if their family never does.
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I graduated with honors from college last year. I currently work as a clinical research study coordinator for kids with mood disorders. Each morning on my way to my office I pass by the child/adolescent inpatient unit. Unlocking my office door, I think about the kids currently in the unit. I may never see the kids, but I see their parents. Walking to the locked double doors of the unit. The stress, fear, and uncertainty stretched across their faces. I think about my own mother.
Those double doors are not unlike the doors I entered through six times. Eight years ago, I was a sophomore/junior in high school. To those around me and even myself, it wasn’t clear if I was going to graduate. It wasn’t clear if I was going to live. Pushing open my office door, I remember the kids who were on the unit with me. A few have continued to stand out in my mind. Like:
The young boy who jumped like a frog as he came onto the unit. He had a 3rd degree burn across his face from his foster parent.
The girl who was sexually abused and could be heard screaming at night, due to night terrors.
The boy on Haldol, who saw dragons. We were on the unit at the same time twice. The 2nd time I saw him, he was barely recognizable. The medicine had caused him to balloon to 200+ lbs.
The girl, really only skin and bones, who was dying of anorexia. The tubes running down her nose, providing the nutrients she denied herself.
I frequently think about what happened to all of these kids. Putting my bag down next to my desk, I silently hope that they made it. That the kids across the hall from my office make it.
I had one counselor tell me he was scared because he didn’t know how to help. It wasn’t easy, and to be frank it fucken’ sucked sometimes. But I’m here.
I’m glad I failed three times. I’m glad I’m sitting here under the banal stresses of life.
awkwardconfident posted this
