Two days ago, I spoke at a press conference at the Capitol. There were senators and educators there speaking about how the $22 million in cuts that is being proposed by the senate bill will ultimately sink a barely floating ship as it is. Mental Health programs around the state and in the schools will be cut from the budget, and they can't survive without funding. I whole-heartedly believe in opposing this proposal from the senate. When I talk to people like college admissions, or counselors, I hear the same thing. They tell me that I am smart, and bright, and easy to talk to. It's true; I take pride in my education and intelligence. But if someone who didn't know me just saw my transcript and my school attendance record, they would be looking at a seemingly completely different student. With a student report ranging from F's, No Credits, D's, missing work, and unexcused absences, to A's, band co-president, student leader of Silver Ribbon Campaign, graduating (hopefully) with honors, constant theater participant and a member of multiple sports teams, someone trying to figure out what kind of a student I am could be very confused. When I was in ninth grade, I was diagnosed with depression. I struggle with it every single day. There are times where I feel great, and I don't have to worry about it, which is when I am the best that I can be. But sometimes, this illness gets the best of me and I am unable to function. Or at least that's what it feels like. I miss the childhood of making mud-pies and earning straight A's. I miss laughing with friends and feeling loved. I miss playing music because I like to play music and I miss feeling comfortable in my own skin. My sophomore year I went through a serious low point in my depression. I was failing classes, I was tired all the time, I was crying all the time, and it got to the point where I was sitting in my fourth hour english class, tears running down my face, and my head filled with thoughts of how much better things would be if I weren't there. Not just in class, but actually existing. I had parents who loved me, a boyfriend that I loved more than myself and for some reason, he oved me the same way. I had friends who didn't always understand but they tried to be there for me even if they didn't know how to. But I still felt like it wasn't worth it anymore. I told my parents that I had a plan to kill myself. Things fell apart. After arguments and therapy sessions and starting exercise in the spring, somehow I got better, and I felt hope in my life again. There was beauty in the world again. I felt like I could breathe again. I never wanted to go back.
That summer, I lost my best friend and the love of my life. We split up after his five week theater program at Northwestern University because he came home and realized that there was more to life than Minnesota and me. Which, miraculously, I handled very well. I understood why, even though it hurt, and to this day, we're friends. Or at least friendly acquaintances.
Junior year began and I joined cross country running since sports seemed to help more than medication (which I only tried for three weeks but hated it) and even better than therapy, since I had the power to make myself better. It was there that I met Ella. She was exactly the breath of fresh air, the new start that I needed. Starting a new chapter in my life I felt happy and healthy. All through junior year, I tried very hard to take care of myself and to repair the damage I had done grade-wise from the year previous. I was able to lift my GPA from a 3.1 to a 3.43 in three quarters with three AP classes, Pre-calculus, Honors Physics, and, of course, jazz band, Wind Ensemble, and theater; I had a goal. It was January when I had decided that I was going to go to that five week theater program that my ex-boyfriend had done. I wanted closure, and an understanding...of something, I just wasn't quite sure what.
I made it into the program and in the summer I was off on an adventure of fourteen hours a day of pure theater and education and some food in between classes. I made friends, learned more about the craft, and came home with a better understanding not only of theater, but of myself. I was named Captain of cross country running the year previous, so I started out my senior year with the cross country camping trip. It was difficult, because at a theater camp, (we ran a little!) we didn't exactly have time to train for other things back home. Plus, being a college setting, I had gained about fifteen pounds with all of the freedom of food. I just had a little extra work to do. I auditioned for Zombie Hamlet, and was cast as Hamlet, so I had to quit cross country running because I couldn't keep up with both. Without the exercise, I started feeling a little melancholy, towards the end of October. I had a new boyfriend, was the lead in the play, still had wonderful friends, and a supportive family, who I was determined not to let down. Sometimes I still know that my mom is scared that she'll leave and when she comes back I won't be there anymore. I know that I hurt her more than I ever meant to when I told them I was going to kill myself. And even though they saw me get better, I know that that feeling of panic for my mom won't ever go away. Senior year progressed and I became overwhelmed with schoolwork and all of the responsibilities of real life. I started skipping class more often, not able to deal with the stress of being around so many people, especially my VOICES class, since there were 55 of us to start, and they weren't exactly the quiet studious type.
I look back on this year with only three or four weeks left until I'm done with high school, and I have a mixture of feelings. There were some great moments, and some tough ones. But at the Capitol, I explained that if I hadn't had the help that I needed back in my sophomore year, it's quite possible that I wouldn't be here today. Students need these services.
No matter where I go in life or what I do, I will always be a strong supporter of mental health services because everybody deserves that uplift, that feeling of beauty in the world, the feeling of hope. Having something to look forward to. Sometimes the things that we say or do are bigger than who we are as an individual. At the Capitol, I feared that I had said too much, too much about my illness. But if it helps one other person realize that mental illnesses are important issues, and they choose to oppose the proposal of budget cuts for mental health programs, then I feel like my story and that piece of me isn't a waste. It's a gift.
