One of my earliest memories is of me running through the sprinklers at about 3 years old  in my front yard, with not a care in the world. It was a hot summer afternoon, probably on the weekend because I remember both my mom and dad were standing together, looking down at me and smiling. They were such a constant in my life and felt superhuman to me then. I believed they would always be by my side and could solve any problem I had in an instant. That was before my entire world changed, before I knew what loss meant, before I was forced to grow up. 

I was 9 years old when my parents announced their divorce. It seemed like any ordinary day until they told my 5 year old sister and I to go down to the basement so they could talk. Conditioned to perceive the emotions of those around me, I recognized that something felt wrong. “Why?” I kept asking them. “Just go downstairs,” they said. That answer did not satisfy me, so being the curious person I am, I tried to listen to their conversation through the cracked door from the stairwell. I had a feeling I was not going to hear anything I liked, and I was right. All I heard was muffled whispers that turned into yelling and crying, not much different from what I normally heard at home for the past year through their bedroom door that was next to mine. I sensed my father’s footsteps approaching the basement door, and hurried to pretend I was just sitting on the couch the whole time. With bloodshot eyes and a cracking voice, he told me “Girls, we have something to tell you.” They explained we would no longer be living together and that it was for the better, but what I heard is that my family was breaking into pieces. Immediately, my sister began uncontrollably crying and questioning why, but they had no answers that would make sense to her. She looked to me for comfort, but I was just a kid too; I had no idea how to deal with those emotions. However, I realized I was going to have to step up and take care of her going forward. This was the beginning of my first loss: childhood. 

Although I was losing my childhood, I did not lose my hope. Not yet, anyway. Throughout the next few years, I still had a supportive family, friends to raise my spirits, and dreams for a better future. I found joy and comfort in books, music, and nature. Although the divorce forever altered life as I knew it, it actually was for the best. I thought life was only going up from where I started. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, around age 12,  I began to feel hatred toward myself. My brain constantly reminded me that the divorce was my fault, echoing what my father had told me. I looked at myself in my bedroom mirror, tears blurring my vision, and hated what I saw; I hated my weight, my personality, my smile. I had previously ignored these thoughts, but they were becoming louder and harder to ignore than ever before. Then I had the worst thought: what if the world would be a better place without me? Every day after I had that thought, I worked to push it down as far into the depths of my brain as I could. But it always resurfaced, creeping back into the forefront even on my happiest days.  I had lost hope at that point, but did not want to acknowledge that, to be more of a burden to my parents than I already felt I was. This was something they could not fix. “They have enough on their plates, why should I make them worry about me?” I told myself. So, I suffered quietly and alone, hoping the problem would work itself out, however it never did. 

My mental health was very much up and down for the next few years, but I would say it dropped to an all-time low during the COVID-19 pandemic. There are countless statistics about how teens struggled during quarantine, but it is hard to imagine what it was like to actually be one in that time. When we first transitioned to online school, I had just turned 13, in the middle of my 7th grade year. I had just begun to feel like I was going to be okay, as I had a solid group of friends and was doing well in school. I had no idea how long of a ride I was in for--a long, bumpy roller coaster ride. During this time, the negative thoughts about myself visited me daily, as I was alone with them for hours every day, only having my phone screen to escape to. Even that was not an escape, as on it I saw the figures of celebrities I wish I looked like. I spent so much time exercising, both trying to lose weight and distract myself from reality. I tracked my calories, longing for some sense of control in my life. Another way I attempted to have control was through my grades. I vividly remember waking up every morning for online school feeling sick to my stomach, probably from my lack of eating and extreme stress, trying to prepare myself for the day of hard work ahead. From 7:30 to 9:30 nearly every day, I would obsessively complete lessons, homework, and work out for hours on end, usually without breaks. Everyone around me was worried about me, but I would not listen to their concerns. My brain had only one goal: to satisfy anxiety. During this time, I lost my sanity. 

Today, I look back on these experiences and mourn for my past self. I wish I could tell her everything is going to be okay, even if it does not feel like it right now. However, I also appreciate how far I have come and think of a line from The Perks of Being a Wallflower, which I read for the first time in one of my toughest times mentally, my freshman year of high school. It reads, “You know you are not a sad story. You are alive.” I truly believe this book had a role in saving my life, and I am happy to be here today to say these words are true. I am not a sad story, I am alive, and I will continue to fight for life regardless of my past. The losses I have experienced may have impacted who I am, but they do not define who I am. I lost my childhood, my hope, and my sanity, but I never lost myself; I became myself.  The presence of loss never means an absence of beauty. I know this because I am surrounded by it; I live in a world with faithful friends, breathtaking sunsets, and soothing melodies. With loss comes pain, but with loss comes growth. Flowers never bloom without a considerable amount of rain. I have come to learn that loss is part of what makes us human, and I work every day to change my perspective and think of each loss in my life as raindrops which have contributed to my blossom.