A beautiful sandy beach is no place for tears. The stench of sea life and the mingling sounds of cars and boat horns shouldn’t entice memories of fear and loathing. A safe place, a haven from terror and a room designated for learning, shouldn’t be filled with trauma, nor should it be the origin of my nightly fits of self-depreciative thoughts and self-loathing beliefs. Yet, it was on that sandy beach, that the seaweed stench became unbearable during the early morning fog. Yet, it was the monotonous melody of those very same cars and boats that played as background to the melancholic beginning. Yet again, a classroom couldn’t be the origin of my self-depreciative thoughts, can it? There’s no way anything that bad could happen in a 4th-grade classroom, right?

“Rory? Come here for a minute, we need to talk to you.” My mother beckoned for my presence in the small apartment living room.

“Ok, I’m coming!” My childlike voice replied. My small 9-year-old frame came speeding to the couch.

“You know your dad is joining the military, right? Guess what,” a pause in her voice came after nodding, “you’re gonna have a little sister!”

Pipping up with a gasp I replied “yay!”

The time has a funny way of shuffling right past you, sometimes even before you know it. The endless cornfields of my Illinois-grown childhood became cabbage patches and strawberry fields. The flat open lands that could be seen until the horizon was suddenly blocked by endless waves of salty water and rolling mountainous earth. Eventually, the restless agitation I felt in my gut had changed, too. My innocent excitement seems almost bittersweet now. The butterflies in my stomach somehow became wasps and the restless excitement became listless and uncontrollable worries. Dissimilar to the abrupt changes in scenery, my child-like optimism continued for most of the year.

“Rory, you’re such an Introvert, I love it.” My mother repeated her regular phrase.

I never did like having too many people around me, or at least not too many people want to be around me. My circle is complete with one or two close friends; a belief I stick to even now, though for different reasons than back then. In fact, back then was a lot different. I still had trust in others and I believed that I was worth anyone’s time. I felt like I was equal to those around me at any given time.

My best friend and I were inseparable. Two girls against the world; we had so many firsts together. Excited to grow breasts and exploring our pubescent bodies together. Before, it felt as though it was me against the world, but now? We’ve got each other’s backs. Opposites in many aspects, but I guess opposites attract. I thought it’d be like that forever, but it seems everything good eventually ends, right? I’m ashamed that I didn’t notice it sooner. In fact, I’m not sure we were ever even on the same page, her and I. It was just us two all the time, and then it wasn’t.  She’d be there when I fall, because I had been for her, at least I thought so.

 Lonely is such a terribly melancholic word; it’s a synonym for alone. It’s human nature to fear the thought of being alone because we are a social animal, aren’t we? Maybe I didn’t notice I felt lonely back then because my mind had flooded itself with the undoubting trust of my best friend, or maybe I had noticed and chose to ignore it.

“Do you wanna come hang out at the park?” My question repeated itself many times.

“I can’t, I’m busy.” Followed by the resounding beep, her reply seemed all too familiar in the recent weeks.

The cold chill that washed over me seemed to grow more intense each time. My friend, he’ll keep my mind off it. Scurrying and screaming in a frenzy, our classmates and my best friend seemed so distant from our slow-paced conversation. No rush, no pressure, lacking in intensity, and not without a soft smile in between. Except, not always.

“Wow. You’ve got two sandwiches? I can barely eat one.” I commented cheerfully.

“Nobody cares. Go away.” he retorted, followed by starting a conversation with my friend.

My eyes glanced back to my lunch on the school bench in front of me. My voice seemed to have disappeared and I couldn’t help but be meek. My friend didn’t seem to care much about his comment to me, but then again neither did anyone else. This pattern continued any time the three of us were together. However, it was one particular time that stood out. 

“When you’ve finished with your work you may talk quietly with your neighbor.” The teacher announced as more students piled in their finished classwork.

“Aren’t you done yet?” I questioned.

“Go away.” He responded as always.

“Why are you so mean?” I questioned.

“Shut up and go away.”

“No! Why do you hate me?”

The only thing audible was that of his pencil scribbling at his paper.

“Answer me, or I’m going to take your pencil.” I pressed.

“Don’t” his reply seemed to get even shorter.

Reaching for the pencil seemed a good idea then. Yet, now I can’t seem to stop blaming myself for what happened after. I should’ve and I shouldn’t have statement echo through my mind at 3:00 am most nights, now.

“Give it back.” He repeated.

“No! Why do you hate me?” I subsequently repeated.

Suddenly silence was all I could manage. Yet again, my voice became absent at the time I needed it most. The mix of conversing and working students wouldn’t have noticed either way, would they? They wouldn’t have noticed when I was shoved back, when the desk behind tripped me, and when he took the pencil back. They wouldn’t have noticed it when I fell; bent with my back against the desktop.  They wouldn’t have noticed when he hovered over me, nearly crushing me with his weight.

 I remember it, though. I remember how his hand was placed next to my shoulder, how his other hand gripped the pencil, and how it moved so fast I couldn’t even process where it was. I remember the blur of color next to my head, the sound of a pencil hitting the wooden desktop; that small thunk next to my ear, and I remember exactly how long it took for the pain to set in. Two seconds, just enough time for him to lift himself off of me. My voice hadn’t the audacity to return, so I just sat back in my seat clutching my ear and trying not to draw any attention to myself for the last few minutes of school. I can’t recall if anyone noticed, I doubt they had.

Chase was always with Conrad, now. My best friend refused to talk to me at school and was always busy on the phone. There must be something wrong with me. What’s so awful about me? Why can’t I be normal? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be likable? Why does everyone that gets to know me start hating me? Why do I feel so lonely? The questions in my mind started to pile up; I didn’t even recognize them. I hated myself and hated that I couldn’t change the way things were; in truth, I still do.  

The biggest problem we have when it comes to facing our own minds and actions is the belief that it could happen to us. I still struggle to come to terms with the fact that truly terrible things have happened to me. I struggle with the thought that, I’m not actually faking my depression every day, I have depression. Not every epiphany is a good one. Not every “sudden realization” is a complete truth. I found a very detrimental core belief at this time. I found the core belief that tells me every day, I’m worthless, and shifts the blame for everything on me. Not every story has a happy ending, but maybe that’s because mine hasn’t ended yet.