Ryan's Story (Scholarship2015)

Ryan's Story

Let me begin by saying I am not the main character of this story, but it is my story... It is my story of my brother, his battle, and how I wish I'd helped sooner.

---

Ryan's room was dark. Silent. Lifeless. I hesitated outside for a moment, futilely calling his name. No reply - but I didn't dare step a foot further into the abyss.

When I returned upstairs, the dinner table had been abandoned for the search. Half-eaten meals were rendered unappetizing by the knot settling in my gut. Somehow, he'd slipped away without catching our attention. How long had he been gone?

The uneasy atmosphere descending upon the house began to suffocate me. The kitchen, family room, dining room - they suddenly all seemed vast and unfamiliar, furnished with shadowed nooks normally glanced over in disregard.

There was a disturbance on the deck and my mother stumbled through the door, pale-faced.

"Did you find him?"

It was a simple question. I wasn't prepared for the answer.

"Yes. He's on the roof."

She didn't stay put long enough for me to even release the breath I'd been holding. A flurry of feelings afflicted me. Fear, at the head, and maybe a little anger. And then – an utter sense of helplessness. Every time, it was always the same emotions. Fear, for him. Anger, at the attention he received. Helplessness, at the very basic principle that I was at a complete loss for what to do.

The house suddenly felt very empty. I missed my mother as she ushered my dad out of the back door, Sean at their heels. My feet didn't follow – they wouldn't. What could I contribute to the situation? A hindrance. I was simply the angsty middle-school sister.

So instead, I ducked behind one of our old, western-printed couches, where I was allowed a half-obscured view of my family out on the deck, and hid. And I hid until they urged my brother down from the roof and re-entered the house, settling the atmosphere even further, and hid until at last they asked, "Where is she?"

That night, we crawled into our beds as normal. The kitchen knives remained hidden in the dining room.

---

Life continued on with Ryan's depression. He took a lot of medicine that didn't seem to help and spent a lot of days home. The house was quiet. This sickness had inflicted our home. Even the brightest days didn't do much to light the path we were headed down.

On my way to school, hardly were words spoken beyond a short "Good morning," or occasionally, "Can you go check on Ryan?" Most of the week, I returned home to a deserted house while he and my mother attended appointments, looking for a new angle. They were always trying new things, it seemed. More Adderall. Less Xanax.

One summer, they drove two hours every day, round trip, to the hospital. I buried myself behind my computer screen, drowning them out with music. At times, our lives seemed to separate and be completely distinct, regardless of whether or not we returned to the same address each night.

And all the while, you could see it in Ryan, slowly eating away from within. With just a glance, you might think he was crazy. Tangled hair and hidden eyes – slumped shoulders and skinny bones, but baggy clothes. I grew too used to it – too used to the mutterings under his breath and despondent eyes – that I didn't notice the little things. The things that he used to make it through each day.

I still don't know.

---

As I said, this is not just my story, but his as well. I highly doubt that my brother's struggles impacted me more importantly than they impacted him. And honestly, I spent my share of time this past fall utilizing this story and morphing it in ways to comment on what I gained from it. Ultimately, the absolute prize I've received from Ryan's depression, is the chance to share it and teach others what he taught me.

I was selfish and independent. I strayed from the world surrounding my brother those years. I am no hero in his story, merely an onlooker. Ryan, however, was so selfless, that he even gave his faith away to his family and friends.

He had the strength to rely on other people. He had the strength to persevere through exhausting days and even more exhausting nights. He struggled alongside those he cared most about, namely my parents and his twin brother, who cumulatively suffered as much as he.

I learned modesty from him, as well as loyalty and the concept of trust in others. I realized that everyone has a story behind scraggly bangs and long sleeve shirts.

I understood this one night.

---

The house was dark and I'd stayed up past curfew, huddled on the couch with my laptop propped up on my knees, slaving away at some game. I'd figured out how to sneak past my father's parental controls to keep my computer from logging me out at midnight, and now my summer nights were accompanied by the dim light of the screen.

There were many of these nights, but on this one, something distracted me. Someone. The faint sound of crying from the basement – I could hear it vaguely. A struggle was being fought within my chest – did I ignore it, as I did, or did I venture into the shadows of his room? There was no one but me to seek him out and offer words of reassurance that night. And so for the first time, the burden was on me.

I sat on his bed, quietly. I let him cry, because I didn't know how to approach him. Minutes passed and I picked at his sheets until finally, his episode died down. He murmured a "Thank you" and I placed my hand on his knee, then left.

This is how Ryan impacted me, and this is how I hope he'll impact you.

---

But, alas, I must finish his story.

Ryan won. His arduous, uphill battle was conquered at the end of his senior year, in time for him to tackle college and start again. The depression was long and grueling, having sprouted in middle school and grown into a twisted and thorny vine that was hacked away slowly, slowly. There were many scary nights, silence broken by the echo of distant sobs from the dark basement and tense dinners hoping another thread wouldn't be stretched too far. It made him all the stronger.

Ryan is an inspiration. During those years, the most influential of my adolescence, he shaped me. And despite where we find ourselves now, I won't forget what he sacrificed.

---

McKenzie Weller