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I Matter, You Matter, We Matter
If I could use one word to describe my high school experience, it would be “boring”. Nothing happens. Day in and day out--it’s all the same. When you watch those stereotypical movies about high school when you’re in the 7th grade, you don’t usually think to expect what’s on the screen in front of you. That can’t actually happen, can it? Surely not. But let me tell you, what you see is what you get. As I walk down the hall to yet another class to learn information that I will never use in life, I’m beginning to realize that there’s not really a point to high school. I wish I could just skip to the part where I’m in college learning about useful things with decent people. But for now, I’m stuck here. Passing the seemingly endless rows of lockers, I’m faced with having to endure cliques whispering about petty things, couples climbing all over each other, all while making zero eye contact and occasionally getting bumped into. Here’s to another hour of sitting in a cold, plastic chair that even prisons wouldn’t use. This teacher likes to pick on me in order to use me as a negative example most days of the week. You kind of just assume that after graduation that people become mature adults. I guess bullies just grow up to be bullies. The bell is obnoxious; I’m not sure how anyone stands it. My drive home is my favorite part of the day. I get to listen to music and not be forced to pretend to be interested in what the Barbie dolls around me are saying. I feel like all of my peers desire to be naive and oblivious to what is happening around them. No one truly seems to care about their actions. Maybe ignorance really is bliss. My stomach tightens as I pull into my garage. That twenty minute commute is my only chance to be genuine. I smile and tell my parents that my day was good, and make my way to my room so that I can be unconscious for awhile. I should probably be doing my homework, but I can’t feel dull when I’m asleep. Finally, silence. I begin to feel hopeless as my dad wakes me up for dinner. I’m not hungry and the last thing I want to do is get out of bed. I eat enough to please my parents, which leads to my mother making a rude comment about my weight. As if I didn’t hate myself enough already. I’m ready to go to bed and it is merely six o’clock.
*****
As I pull up to school, I’m greeted with the always-smiling faces of the Barbies I mentioned earlier. I’m almost positive that they have never been inconvenienced unless it comes to a boy. I hang out with them because I have been told that high school is easier if you are part of a group. If this is easy, then God forbid I ditch them and experience “hard”. There is one girl that I can almost tolerate though. She is more genuine than the rest of them. I feel like I should tolerate more than one person at a school of this size. We walk in a cluster to each of our classes, trickling down one by one, screaming our goodbyes. We’ll see each other in fifty minutes...I don’t understand but I play along. It’s finally time for lunch and all of my friends are eating salads and bird seed. I look around as the conversation carries without any input from myself. Would they notice if I weren’t here? Lunch is over and the day is as long as ever. I trudge along and get through the day as best as I can. On my way to the big, industrial double doors someone stopped me. It was the semi-tolerable girl. “Hey! How are you?” This threw me for a loop if I’m being honest. No one has asked me that in ages. How am I doing? I’m horribly and terribly numb, but no one seems to care!
“I’m good, how are you?” I politely reply.
“I’m pretty good. I just wanted to check on you because you haven’t really been yourself in awhile.”
This really threw me off. Maybe people do notice me… “Thanks. I’m just tired,” The conversation was quickly over and we both went our separate ways. If I’m being honest, I suddenly didn’t feel so terrible. It was nice. However, it didn’t last. I slowly returned to my numbness on my way home from school. Every day is the same. I wake up, go to school, come home, take a nap, eat dinner, go to bed, and repeat. There’s no meaning to any of this. Instead of my nap I write a letter. I address it to all of my friends and family apologizing for everything. I reread and revise it multiple times until it is perfect, and I stuff it under my mattress. After I’m done I get inside the covers and roll over into unconsciousness until dinner.
*****
As I’m walking through the school, I see signs that have been colored and posted everywhere. “National Suicide Prevention Week. I Matter, You Matter, We Matter.” It’s funny how much people care when it’s commercially forced. Today there’s an assembly with a speaker about depression and suicide. Hooray. We are all herded into the gym and I find my seat next to my “friends”. I’ll spare you the whole speech, but honestly it was pretty good. This is the first time I’ve heard someone actually describe depression correctly, so I listened. About halfway through, I started feeling guilty for feeling this way. Tears started pooling in my eyes, but I tried to make them go away. I’m fine. It felt as though the speaker was talking directly to me. I knew the things that he was saying, but I didn’t want to believe them. It was almost over, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I got out of my seat and walked to the bathroom. Hopefully no one noticed. At this point, I’m sobbing and I don’t care who sees. I look in the mirror and wonder why I’m even here. Then I feel terrible for thinking that. This cycle repeats itself several times. The bathroom door opens and I quickly try to compose myself, even though it doesn’t work. I look through the tears to see that it’s the girl. She followed me in here. Why would she do that? She doesn’t say anything, she just hugs me. This was the greatest feeling. She didn’t try to talk me out of feeling this way or tell me that I’m being dramatic, she was just there for me. She made me feel like I matter. After hugging for a long time, we finally pulled away and just sat in silence. I told her about the letter, even though I immediately regretted it. She started to tell me that she had no idea, and that I should have told her sooner. I really should have. She picked me up off of the bathroom floor and invites me to her house to talk. I hadn’t even noticed that the bell had rung. I nodded my head and followed her to her car. We talked for hours and for the first time in my life, I believed what someone else was saying about me. She kept saying how much I matter and how much she loves me. This made me feel like I’m finally worth something. After awhile, silence is prominent. She asked if I want to stay the night, and I politely declined. “Are you sure you’re okay to be alone tonight?”
I nodded my head, smiled with tears streaming down my face, and hugged her once more. “Thank you for everything. You have no idea how much this meant to me,” I muster.
“Of course. Text me when you get home safely. And please, please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything” She pleaded.
“I will. Thanks again,” And we hug for the final time.
*****
I arrive home and make my way upstairs. I’m not totally over these feelings, but I’m definitely better. I’m finally hopeful. Someone cares about me. Someone thinks that I matter. If I can’t live for myself, then I should at least live for them. I get into my pajamas, pull back the covers, and get comfortable. I start to close my eyes when I remember something. I reach over and pull the letter out from under my mattress. After taking a long look at it, I rip it up and throw it away
Works Cited
Pappas, Stephanie. “Suicide: Statistics, Warning Signs and Prevention.”Livescience.com,
“Risk Factors and Warning Signs.” Afsp.org, afsp.org/about-suicide/risk-factors-and-warning-signs/.
“Suicide Prevention.” Suicide Prevention: How to Help Someone Who Is Suicidal and Save a Life,