Suicide is always the elephant in the room at a teenage counselling meeting. As you sit, observing the obnoxious amounts of long sleeved jumpers and bouncing knees of several teens sat, bored and misty eyed as a middle aged bald man rattles on about ridiculous anecdotes which never connect with any of the attendees - you realise that depression is more common than you think.
Take me for example: three months ago, just prior to my seventeenth birthday, I was diagnosed with psychotic depression. I was always branded as a 'moody teenager' and my lack of self confidence was just blamed on puberty; it took a near death experience for my parents to consider it might be something more.
Ever since my diagnosis I have been treated differently, people are more delicate when they talk to you - that is if they talk to you. You'd be surprised at the amount of friends you lose as soon as you've got a label - they all find excuses when you suggest meet ups and lunch tables become a lot bigger when you're sat alone.
Right now, instead of meeting up to go shopping with my friends - I am sat in an over-bright, over-decorated meeting room. Bill (our counsellor) sat in the centre of a badly created circle of depressed teenagers.
"So, how has everyone's week been? Ben?" Bill smiled at a blonde boy who sat slumped, half asleep in his chair. The boy grunted in response and put his head in his left hand.
I sighed before raising my right hand into the air. Bill's eyes darted like a hawk spotting its next prey and gestured for me to speak.
"My week was bollocks."
A few sniggers were evoked from my comment and a couple of people nodded in agreement. Bill's smile faltered slightly before coughing and rearranging the papers on his lap.
"Right, well then Lucinda - let's talk about it." and thats how every session went.
A poorly thought through question, followed by unenthusiastic responses and concluded with a run through of our repetitive lives.
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I waved goodbye to a couple of people I knew and exited the building. The cold air hit me as I pulled my navy coat tighter around my petite figure. Suddenly, my phone rang and I opened it up to a text off my mother:
Sorry, crisis came up at work - walk home xx
I sighed. I don't really know why I expected anything different. Work always came first - depressed daughter in this ass freezing British weather? Nope - a stack of shitty papers describing new house renovations always comes first. I tucked my phone into my pocket without replying and started the long, dreary walk home.
Half hour later, streetlights began to flicker above my head signalling the transition to night. Shivering in the night breeze, I decided to enter my favourite record store; as I entered I embraced the rustic scent this store encaptured and the old, torn up posters which decorated the peach walls.
Music is famous in the depression world for being a lease for those who can't cope anymore - well supposedly - I believe music is healing, but perhaps not to such an extent.
"The Beatles? Jeez, talk about being a stereotypical hipster."
Beside me stood a tall, blonde-haired boy in a work uniform. I glanced at him, but went back to the records infront of me, running my fingers over the tatty covers until I found one which interested me.
Clearly not getting the 'go away' vibe I was trying to convey, the blonde followed in my footsteps.
"I suggest Elvis," he smiled at me, "he is my power animal."
I looked at him, confused at his statement, before trying to lose him as I turned a corner to the next rack of records. However, this limpet stayed and picked up a record.
"See - power animal." He pointed at the picture of Elvis which encased the record and shoved it in my general direction, sighing I turned to face him completely.
"Why are you following me?" Slightly annoyed, I grasped the cuffs of my coat and tucked my hands inside.
This guy sniggered quietly before pointing to a little logo on his purple polo shirt. It was the record shop's logo. Great - a new employee.
I rolled my eyes and walked away to leave, but not before limpet-guy got in one last word.
"See you around, Hipster."
YOU ARE READING
Final Wish
Teen Fiction"We know what we are, not what we may be" ~William Shakespeare Life is an inconstant cycle of tragedies, epiphanies and delights - yet we must learn to adapt to this and abi...
