Day 2: A Change Is Gonna Come

Let's see... two years ago I was Doti's age, entering my sophomore year at the Main Campus. I was entering the "big kid" school where everything was supposed to be harder, scarier, all the kids much, much bigger, and where I was supposed to know how to handle it all. Like a big kid.

Let me tell you, I was not a big kid at the time. The year before, my freshman, I had discovered a word. An ugly, grey, overpowering word that dogged my heels, looming over me through everyday and everything I did. I would escape it at home, only to have it seep into my classes at school. I have a memory of sitting in my biology class, looking to my full-time friend and boyfriend at the time, and wondering how on earth he could put up with me as he worked on our assignment. I did rarely did any work and passed the days hoping that I wouldn't embarrass myself if (heaven forbid) a teacher called on me. The word, that ugly, overpowering word, that I had discovered while watching a generic commercial with a sallow-looking woman all in grey who took a pill and started wearing colors again, was depression.

I didn't even know I could have that. The thought was so foreign. Stuff like didn't happen to me. I was me, I was happy, sunny, optimistic. Not depressed. That word made me into a self-serving, uncaring, little kid. It wasn't that I liked it, but once those thoughts enter your head, well, you keep having them.

The december of that school year my mother's father passed away to colon cancer. It surprised us all, really. We had all been pretty focussed on my grandmother, his wife, who had contracted breast cancer the previous year. When he suddenly took ill, it sort of shook everyone's foundations. He was so strong and so firmly there, he almost was everyone's foundation. You could say everything started to collapse after that. Three months later, Grandma passed away, taking a loud, brass, Brooklyn voice, but leaving relief. Her fight was over. Maybe now life could go on.

And so enter that summer. Months and days before, I had decided that I needed to be happier. I needed to be better at doing things. I needed not to procrastinate. I needed to not miss so much school. I needed to do a whole bunch of things. Two years ago I was a nervous, but hopeful girl, trying to fight the remnants of depression.

I'll tell you something. Under that description, I can't say I've changed. Still nervous, but I'm better at hiding it now. Still have hope, but when it goes away, I know which rope to pull to get it back, even if I have a hard time finding it in the dark. And, yeah, still fighting some remnants of depression. I think that once it's introduced to you, it likes to stick around, hiding on that rope and creeping down when it feels you begin to tug.

But now I see that and now I know that. And now I can be better if I try.

I hope this wasn't overly, well, I guess depressing is one word for it. I'll attempt happier things next time, yeah?

Best wishes,

Dizzy