Depression: The Struggle (Work In Progress)

Chapter 2: Middle School

Naturally, summer vacation was my favorite part of the year as a kid. We weren't able to afford any type of vacation, so I never knew of the fun that some of my classmates would talk about when returning to school in the fall. For me, it was just all about the fact that I didn't have any more school work. It was just chill time for three months.

The summer of my fourth grade year began, and I found myself waking up at early hours, usually six or seven. There were two main reasons for this. One was that it extended the amount of time I had to play that day. The second would be the first bit of darkness I'd be introduced to.

The shy, short, quiet, obedient kid with the Christian home would be introduced to nightmares. I'm not exactly sure when they started, but it felt deathly terrifying, especially since I had no idea what sparked them. I recently learned that my great grandmother died in the tiny bedroom I shared with Anthony. No wonder I always had a weird vibe and only really spent time there at bedtime.

These nightmares scared the hell out of me. I had those paralyzing nightmares where screams wouldn't come out audibly. I'd swear I was tossing, turning, and screaming in my sleep, only to wake up with the inability to move. Sweat would be puddled on my pillow, and my heart would feel as if it were beating out of my chest. "Why me, Lord?" would come to mind a lot. I was always obedient, respectful, and quiet. Why must I be tormented this way night after night?

Most of the nightmares would place me in a house I didn't recognize, late at night. Seemingly, no one else would be in said house. It was only me...and the man (or men) that were constantly trying to break in. I'd curl into a ball on the floor of the foyer as I heard the men trying to make their way into the lavish house. Sometimes, I was fortunate enough that my mind would alert me that this couldn't be real. The house couldn't be any farther than the truth of where I actually lived. Why was I in this giant, two-story house, anyway? I lived in a tiny three-bedroom house. Those were the good nights. While I'd wake up scared to death, I knew it was only a dream. I'd grab a glass of water and go back to sleep. Most nights, I wasn't so lucky though.

I'd run to a closet and hide as the monster(s) made his/their way, seemingly knowing just exactly where I was. When they'd reach me, I'd finally wake up in worse shape than when I was lucky enough to snap out of it before they broke in.

The very worst nights were when the house would switch to a more familiar one, my great aunt's house down the street. Like our house, hers was small. In these dreams, I'd not try to hide. Instead, as they broke into the back door, I'd run out of the front door and into the street. I'd stand in the middle of the street screaming to get the attention of any of her neighbors. The only problem with that theory was that nothing came out, no matter how hard I tried.

When my real voice would finally break through both dream and reality. I'd wake up screaming bloody murder, waking up myself, my brother, our parents, and my grandma. They'd do their best to comfort me, but the rest of the night was shot for me. I'd be stuck awake, sneaking into the living room to watch TV alone until near sunrise.

Those worst set of nightmares did have one positive attached to them. Being shy and timid, I hadn't mentioned the problem to anyone. The screams made my parents aware of my problem, forcing me to admit that this was a pretty frequent occurance. Unsure of the cause of said nightmares, since I wasn't allowed to watch anything potentially "scary" on TV, my parents turned to the church for help. A church member came and prayed throughout the whole house, making mention of the fact that something related to the closet in my room being the cause of my night terrors. This seemed to diminish the nightmares, but unfortunately they did make their way back at times.

Even with less nightmares, the damage had already been done. To this day, I struggle with insomnia and the still, quiet of a room at night. Many a night, I'd close my eyes and fight the feeling of the room spinning as I entered REM. It almost felt like I was being transported into a not-so-friendly dream world...one I wasn't too fond of entering. I went from the boy that could go to bed at any time and wake up bright and early to the boy that didn't want to sleep.

The summer wasn't all bad...just the nights. I'd spent all summer in the neighborhood playing, only stopping to eat lunch and dinner. Then, it was back to my friends. Like it felt every year, summer break seemed to end quickly. I'd be facing quite a few changes with the upcoming school year.

For the first time, I'd be riding the bus to school. I'd also be having two teachers in my fifth grade year, instead of only having one in elementary school. Most of the neighborhood kids were a few years younger or older than me, so I had to rely on a second attempt at finding a best friend from school.

The adjustments came a little easier than I expected, especially since the teacher I had the first half of the day just so happened to have taught me in second grade. She had told my mom that I was such a pleasure to teach then that she requested me be put in her class. Some of the classmates I met in elementary school were in my class, along with a few I didn't know, since this school took in kids from several different neighborhoods.
I began to break out of my shell a little bit that year. I pretty much had to. I didn't see my mom on a daily basis, standing at the fence awaiting my arrival at recess. I was on my own until I found my second best friend, Steve. He was one from another neighborhood that I met that year. It proved to be more of a friendship than I had with my previous best friend.

I'd go to his house and hang out. My first best friend, I only saw at school. This was an actual friendship, and it felt pretty good to have somebody outside of the neighborhood...someone my age. I continued to make excellent grades and improve my ability to play football that year. I was the same kid I was before...just a little happier.

With sixth grade came new teachers and a few firsts for me. I joined my first school club, 4H, that year. It wasn't the type of 4H from Napoleon Dynamite. We didn't do the whole "the defect from this cow is..." thing. We grew a few plants and did some fundraising stuff. Those that had the financial means went to some kind of camp or something. They got the full experience. I just was involved in whatever didn't cost money, pretty much. No beef from me, I was just happy-go-lucky. I knew others were more well-off, but I didn't care too much.

I also got to experience my first school dance, thanks to my good grades. For the quiet kid that pretty much kept to himself, I think that dance may have almost been as scary as the nightmares I had before. While everybody else was doing the Butterfly and the Tootsie Roll, I was sitting down at a table by myself, with a snack and soda in my hand. Maybe that's why I like movie so much. I can relate to Napoleon...heh.

My most favorite memory from that year came from my dad. The best days came once a month. As a reward for good grades, one day a month, he'd check me out of school early and take me fishing in this little boat we had. I always looked up to my dad for doing his best to work hard to provide for us the best he could. This time we shared together was the best. Like I said before, we didn't have much material-wise, but we did have love and a good foundation.