Imprisonment to Freedom

It was 769 days ago
The smell of medical toxins filled the air
Like a dentist’s office or a pediatrics center

That note, placed on the table, consumed me through the day

When would I be taken
Then driven
And then placed in 72-hour care

Why me?
Why this brain?
Why these friends?
What is my role in this world?

Paperwork; talking
Silence; talking
Talking; silence
Repeat

Six hours
From twelve to six

This was the longest day of my life
And lasted for the next 365 days
New doctor; different smell, less doctory, too childish
New doctor; new smell, not doctory, not childish

769 days later
My world has been turned… well, right side up
What makes me happy?
Too much to name
But the boxed shoes, pointed feet, stretched arms, and tightened cores
That, that is an emotional release from the stress everyday life brings towards us

The literal leaps and bounds one makes translate into real life
Unfocused; sloppy
Unmotivated; boring
Sad; moving
Angry; passionate
Happy; like ice cream melting from one movement to another

This, this is what makes me me
Not the damaged parts I like to hide from others
But the light that shines through those shattered parts of me
I hope one day someone will see

Because life will always be a balancing act
Between pain and beauty.

Note from the author:

by Anonymous

I wrote this poem in 10th grade, reminiscing about the day when anxiety and depression overwhelmed me to the point I wanted to end it all. I struggle with both anxiety and depression. For most of my life, my condition consumed me on the daily. Expressing how I feel with words is like the Greek myth of Sisyphus, trying to push a large boulder up a steep hill.
Because I had no way to express how I felt at that moment, my mind took me to the extreme. I got taken from school and spent seven hours being evaluated by a psychiatrist. My reluctance to speak prompted a threat of being put on a 72-hour hold (you get admitted to the hospital for 72 hours with no connection to the outside world until the staff feels that you are no longer a harm to yourself or others). Thus, I talked. It was exhausting and unimaginably hard to be that vulnerable, but I got through it. For two years, I saw a psychiatrist and therapist to work through what happened and learn to cope and prevent it from happening again.
Although I still find myself slipping back and needing to reach out for help every once in a while, I will never let it get that far again. I want to be here. And yes, some days are harder than others, but the people close to you care about you and want to see you grow up and see the milestones and celebrations you achieve.
Today, you can find me relieving my stress and anxiety through art. Whether it be the art of activism, photography, writing, acting, or, my favorite, dance. I have ways to decompress that help me take a breather and focus on grounding myself once again.