Many people think that teenagers don't know what real pain is. That they don't understand true loss. I can understand where those opinions come from, and I am sure that almost any other teenager in this class could agree with those opinions. I, however, can not. On October 24 of 2014 one of my best friends committed suicide. Sammie was the kind of girl who loved everybody and became friends with everyone easily. I think I was really lucky to have her as my best friend, even though our friendship was only three years and almost four months long. I believe everyone who knew Sammie was hurt to some extent by her sudden departure from this world. For some it was like being pinched, for some it was like a bee sting, for others it felt like a limb was broken. For me it was as if somebody stabbed me a thousand times but was careful enough to avoid anyplace that would actually kill me in order to keep me alive to watch me suffer. Is that not true pain? If it's not I hope I never know what true pain is.
Mrs. Hanson called me up to her desk and gingerly handed me a small square shaped pink paper that told me I was wanted in the office. Before I turned to go she handed me a copy of the essay I had turned in not even fifteen minutes ago. I knew right then that I would be talking to the schools therapist.
I could tell that she was trying to keep the air free from the anxiety causing tension that was quickly filling the air of the medium sized square room as we walked in. She sat in an armless chair by the window and I sat awkwardly on the yellow love seat decorated with a floral pattern in a slightly darker yellow. She had taken the essay from my hand not long after I entered the office. We sat in silence for a moment while she read my essay. The silence that filled the air between the stranger and myself will forever be on my top five most awkward moments. She exhaled sharply and introduced herself as Nancy White, Mrs. White to me. She explained that everything I said to her was completely confidential and the only time it wouldn't be was if I was a risk to myself or to others. Basically the speech you get from any therapist like person. Once she finished the introduction stuff she asked me about Sammie. I knew it was coming but still once the words left her mouth mine went dry and suddenly my heart was racing and I couldn't catch my breath. My hands got sweaty and I began feeling dizzy. It's a good thing I was seated or my whatever this is would have been very easy to see. Unfortunately she saw it anyways.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just a little tongue tied." I said struggling to get a deep breath.
"Ok.." She said with a doubtful tone, "So Sammie?"
"Sammie..." I said followed by a thoughtfully sad sigh, "well for three years she was my best friend. It's like one day we had no idea who the other was and the next day we were best friends. We were inseparable and then one day I woke up and she was gone."
Over the next hour and a half we talked we decided it was likely that I had panic disorder and after Sammie's suicide it became a lot more prominent as well as throwing some minor depression on top. We agreed that we would meet again next Thursday and talk some more and I enjoyed the last five minutes of the lunch hour hidden contently under the far stair case.
