Persistence and Perseverance

Julia

I had been in the same room for forever. The crib was placed in between the yellow walls and the light blue ceiling. Then, the crib disappeared and a small bed was placed under the light blue ceiling. When my brother was born the crib came back, but my bed stayed. I thought it was the best thing in the world to be in the same room as my new baby brother. Time went on and the crib left. A new bed was placed in the room down the hall, but my bed stayed. It stayed in between the yellow walls and the light blue ceiling. Only, I was tired of the yellow walls and the light blue ceiling. I wanted my room to come alive. Soon, the yellow walls would change to blue with fish painted above my bed. The only thing that remained was the light blue ceiling. I looked on the wall closest to the door and realized the empty hook. All these years there was a picture frame that hung there, but I never knew what it said. I went into the box sitting in the hallway and picked up the frame. It read, “All About Me”. I proceeded on and read the piece of paper. I had never been so intrigued. It told me about everything that was happening when I was born, and it told me about my name. It said that I was a caring and bright individual. It said that I would most likely grow up to be a teacher and I would forever be attached to my family. It said that I could overcome any obstacle. There were so many thoughts going through my head. Can this be true? Who made this? It described me perfectly. I decided to pick up the frame and place it on the empty hook. Now all that was left was the light blue ceiling and the picture frame on the wall next to the door.

More Than A Word

Depression

/dəˈpreSH(ə)n/

noun

A mental condition characterized by feelings of severe despondency and dejection, typically also with feelings of inadequacy and guilt, often accompanied by lack of energy and disturbance of appetite and sleep.

It’s such a horrible word isn’t it? “Depression,” she said. She told me that I had depression. It still sounds so unreal after all of this time. I sat in the office of a woman from Alexian Brothers Behavioral Health Institution at two in the morning. My mom sat next to me as I shook and tears fell down my face. “We are going to admit her into our care,” she said. I took a deep breath and told myself it would be okay, that they were going to help me.

She walked me into the waiting room and a new doctor took my mom and I upstairs. He scanned his pass through every door and led us into a room. White walls. White ceiling. I sat down in the chair while mom signed all of the paperwork and then a nurse came in to see me. She told me to come in to a different room. This room was not like the last room. It was dark and scary. I started to cry and shake. She asked me questions about myself and then she said, “welcome.” I can still hear her say it now. “Welcome.” I was not welcome. This place was not welcoming. How can she say that when she doesn’t even mean it? She made me take off my clothes and look at the cuts up and down my arms. She told me that I couldn’t have the string in my sweatshirt because someone might use it to hang themselves. She pulled it out. Just like that. My favorite sweatshirt, the last thing connecting me to the outside world, ruined. I was taken into my room. The walls weren’t blue. There were no fish. They pick the most depressing color of all: no color. It had one bed and one bookshelf. I got a toothbrush and toothpaste. That’s all I had left.

I cried all night. I tried to leave my room, so they locked me into an empty room with one beanbag for me to sleep on. I sat on that beanbag all night. I didn’t close my eyes once. The man that locked me in the room said, “Don’t cry, it shows them that you are weak.” In the morning I was let out. They took my blood and gave me a five minute phone call with my mom. At five minutes the lady took the phone out of my hand and hung it up. I ate breakfast and went to my first group session. I didn’t talk. I had nothing to say. I was just a word: depression.

After lunch a doctor came to see me. She told me that she would be in charge of my medication, so I could be happy again. I sat there and stared at her. I didn’t need pills to make me happy. That was the moment that I knew I wasn’t a word. I wasn’t depression, I was Julia. I was supposed to be strong. I told her that I didn’t belong there. I told her that I didn’t need medication to make me happy. I told her that I was happy with my mom. She didn’t listen. No one listened to me there.

I waited for my mom. I knew that she was coming. She couldn’t just leave me. I went to the next group session and I talked. I was honest. I was brave. I was strong. I kept moving forward.

One Foot in Front of The Other

Ten o’clock at night, I hit the floor. I paused for a second to process what happened and then I began to scream. My mom and brother came running into my room. My foot snapped. It bruised right away and puffed up to the size of an orange. My mom ran to get me ice and helped me onto my bed. She told me that we can either go to the emergency room or we can go to the doctor in the morning. I told her that I could wait until morning and laid on my bed crying all night.

I watched the sun rise sideways as I laid in my bed. The blue walls began to brighten and the fish became alive. My mom walked into my room shortly after and helped me up. I got dressed and hobbled down the stairs. She grabbed my old crutches to help me to the car. I had to sit in the backseat and every bump we hit my eyes turned to glass.

We arrived at the doctor’s office and they did 2 rounds of x-rays. He told me that I had  a fracture and a sprain. He went in the other room and came back with a big boot. When he told me that I had a sprain I felt weak and dramatic. I should have been able to handle a sprain.

Next month we went back for a reevaluation. He came in and looked at my progress and said it wasn’t progressing like it should. He looked at the x-rays again and it showed that I had two fractures and a bad sprain. He told my mom and I that it would take six more weeks before I start feeling better and to come in then. We left the office and I felt good that we had gotten some answers, but I still felt some discouragement.

We went back six weeks later and nothing was working. I did eight weeks of physical therapy and then we decided to go to get a second opinion. He said that I stretched out my tendons so far that it would never be like it was. He said that I would need to get lateral ankle reconstruction surgery. I started to shake and my face lost all of its color. Surgery? We left the doctor’s office and went home. Since my parents are separated, my mom and my dad have to agree whenever I need medical help. My mom emailed my dad about my surgery and he refused to let me get it.

To this day, I have not gotten the surgery. I am in pain every step I take. My foot has no support. I go home at the end of the day and take off my socks to see that it is more swollen than the day before, but I do it all positively. I continue to tell myself that this is only going to make me stronger, both physically and mentally. My mom continues to help me with the pain and eventually she will get his permission. I know that it’ll work itself out because it always does in the end.