Sophomore Year

4. Truth Comes Out

WARNING: Suicidal ideation and hospitalization will be brought up in this chapter and the next!!

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I had practice after school that day, and when I arrived to the ball field, we were getting ready to remove the tarp. It rained the day before, so the tarp was there to help keep the field dry. I had little to no energy due to the night before, so I wasn't prepared for all of this. My teammates seemed to like me, but only one girl would talk to me more often than the others. I only knew two girls on the team. I didn't really try to make friends with anyone else other than Ashlee and Kayla.

Jacey walked over to me and began to say, "Hey, Lindsay. Are you alright? You seem a bit down,".  A smile appeared on my face and I replied, "I'm great!". I wasn't great. I was the exact opposite, but no one needs to know that. It wasn't important, and if they cared enough, maybe they'd ask more often.

My dad got me from practice, and he seemed irritated. "Hey, are you okay?" I asked. He didn't say anything for nearly five minutes. I assumed he didn't want to talk about it, so I dropped it. "Mrs. Gibson called me today," I began to panic, "she said something related to how you've been acting," he said. Acting? What did that mean? "She said you've been acting different," as he said that I replayed the way I acted today. Nothing more was said after that, and the rest of the ride home was quiet.

I got home and I began to work on my Essay over The Secret Life of Bees. The book was great, and Dr. Barns told me that I reminded her of the main character: Lily. We had to give our views on a social issue that was in the book. I chose depression. Halfway through the second paragraph, I was interrupted by text messages from my mom. "Why do you hate me?" She would ask along with saying I'm hurting her on purpose. My intentions were not meant to hurt her, and I wish my family saw that. I was consumed by the feeling of being sad. I began to consider suicide.

The next day at school wasn't any better than the last. I was dreading every class and interacting with others. Today marked two years since my grandpa died on March 8th. It was difficult for me to go on throughout the day, and anything anyone said to me would upset me. Ellison and I got into a small disagreement in Spanish. "You're not even trying," she said. I stared at her in disbelief and sat down without saying a word. I was done. I wouldn't speak to anyone unless it had been a teacher after that. Almost all day, I thought about killing myself and the ways I could do it. In Chemistry, I asked to go to Mrs. Gibson and my teacher said yes. I walked into Mrs. Gibson's office and sat down. It was silent for five minutes until it was broken by her voice. "Are you okay?" She asked. I was asked this question many times before, but I never answered honestly until today. "No. I'm not okay," was my response.

I went to put my head on my hand and I began to rant about everything. My mom, my dad, school, myself, my friends, and almost anything that came to mind. I was in there my whole seventh period, and I felt the need to tell her I didn't want to keep going on. I hesitated, "I want to say something that I have been trying to tell you since I got in here, but I just can't," Mrs. Gibson looked at me with concern in her eyes. She went on to ask, "What are you trying to say, Lindsay?".

Silence filled the room. She sat there patiently waiting to see if I would say anything more.

"I-I don't see the point anymore," I stuttered, "I'm no one important. Everyone would be fine if I was not here!"

"What exactly do you mean?" Mrs. Gibson asked.   I looked up at her, and without saying a word, I looked back to the floor. "I can't help unless you tell me specifically what's going on. You can talk to me," she said.

"I'm not wanted by anyone, not even me. I'm strongly considering killing myself," I said quietly while looking down at the floor as the bell rang at 3:00.