“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, understood as a child, thought like a child,” (Bible NIV). But as I’m witnessing my flourishing years, I have become more of a woman to be, I am putting my childish ways aside. I have and I am. 

For some, middle school was the light switch to our perceptions of the world around us. We were just recently discovering ourselves, slowly detaching away from the thread that bonded us with childhood. My school was set up in Ivy League named academies, where I was in the best one; Yale. I was in honors class, 8Y1 (8th grade, Yale, 1st class), so automatically there were high expectations for us. I felt like these high expectations were unfair to us. Why did we have to be the role models for our peers when all we ourselves were kids too? When one class fell, the whole academy or grade had to be stripped away from special events and privileges. 

Although high expectations could help youth aspire for more, high expectations can be the cause of stress and anxiety. There was this constant feeling lingering within thoughts every time I thought I was not doing the right thing in school. If I hung out with troubled kids, I would be afraid of getting influenced. That was the bad thing, I would judge people based on what I heard about them through the people teaching us.

I am glad though, that my perception for people has changed when I put myself in other people’s shoes. This has grown when I met my now friend who we should call Mike. We all have our reasons in the way we act or have acted. It is not an excuse to hurt people, or to play the victim to gain sympathy. Being honest with yourself and being able to move past mistakes is proof of personal growth. But with Mike it was a difficult story.

I didn’t know Mike personally in middle school. He played the piano, looked a bit emo with his red flannel and side parted hair. I can’t remember if he had blonde highlights but you could tell the type of aesthetic he was portraying. He was in one of the worst classes, 8Y5. Our first interaction was a bit weird. Mike was in the auditorium sitting and playing “Señorita” by Camila Cabello on the piano, a banger during that time. All the theater kids including me had rehearsal so we heard and some of us gathered around him. His back was hunched, having a great focus on his playing. From an outside perspective, it was admirably impressive.

“What is your name?” I asked as he played.

I heard a mumble come out from him.

“What?” I replied.

“Mike!” He said it in a serious tone which sort of put me off. 

I had really nothing else to say so I left it at that. 

I learned more about him through my friend who we should call Rosie. It seemed like she had a thing for him. I thought they were a great pair, a flute player and a pianist, two peas in a pod. However, as she talked to me more about him, he showed signs of a rebellious nature and concerning behavior.

“He said if I stopped being his friend, he would cut himself,” Rosie told me one day in gym class. 

“Nah girl, you should stay away from him.” I said with real concern.

“Yeah you’re right…” She seemed overwhelmed but I tried my best to comfort her.

I don't remember the exact day it was, but one time I had to make up a test I missed for a class. So I, and this other classmate of mine who also missed the test went to the class next door to take it. The class was rowdy, you could hear the class chitter chattering between themselves giving the teacher a hard time. 

“Of course, it’s 8Y5…” I thought to myself.

The teacher let us in and we took seats at the back tables. As I concentrated on the questions, I noticed how one kid was acting up and giving the teacher a hard time. Mike got up from his seat and started to talk back to the teacher. You could hear the “oooo’s” from the students. The teacher was not having it and went to the phone.

“If you don’t calm down, I will call the principal,” She warned him.

“I’ll go to him myself,” Mike said as he rushed out of the classroom. 

This whole time me and my classmate gave each other the side eye as we found it hard to concentrate on the test. Though, it was sort of entertaining.

“He gives me school shooter vibes, right?” My classmate whispered to me.

“Honestly…yeah but hopefully not,” I whispered back and nervously chuckled.

During those years and extending to now, there was a rising amount of school shootings occurring around the country that struck us American kids to always be on the lookout. The stereotypical school shooter is someone who is quiet, looks edgy, and has a grudge against the world. Every now and then, I will see memes making fun of this type of person, not to make a joke about a mass killing of children, but on the perpetrator itself. It usually goes down like this 

“When the quiet kid tells you not to go to school tomorrow,” and then followed by a picture of the person having the most shocked face of realization. 

Of course, nothing of this is truly something to joke about. However, it gives us another view on how my generation copes with the struggles of our nation and overall world. But also a gateway on how we as a generation deal with our mental health. With Mike, he was very vocal about it to me.

We didn’t know each other like that, until a day in 2022 when he messaged me on Instagram. 

“Hi”

“hi”

“Are you the ukulele girl?” He asked me. 

In 8th grade I brought my ukulele to play for this one class assignment, and they recorded it and posted it on our academy’s instagram account. So I gained a bit of recognition for it.

“Yeah that’s me. You are the piano guy, right?” I replied.

“Yeah.”

It was surprising at first because why would a guy from middle school who I didn’t personally know message me out of the blue? But then it came clear to me when he asked if I could send a message to my friend Rosie. 

“Did something happen?”

“I made a mistake and I just want her to know how sorry I am.”

“Alright, I’ll let her know then.”

So I message Rosie on Discord, it was awkward to do so as we haven't talked in months. 

“Hey Rosie, I hope you are doing well. I just wanted to let you know that Mike wanted to pass on a word to you.” I started off.

“Oh my god, now he is using my friends to get to me. Don’t listen to him anymore…” Rosie explained to me that Mike was not a good person and has left her practically traumatized.

I was of course feeling for my friend so I told him that she was set in stone in her decision of cutting ties with him. Then, he began to vent to me about his life and how he very much regrets his decisions. See, I knew that he was trying to gain sympathy from me, and sympathy I did give him. I told him the best advice I could give him. I told him about God, I told him about the importance of forgiving and most importantly forgiving yourself. I hoped that with that maybe he could view things differently and stop pestering my friend. Maybe I was bored, but to me, I needed Mike to know that there was someone who would hear him out. I allowed him to be my friend. 

However, Mike was filled with guilt and also grief of what once was. Grieving doesn’t solely occur when a person dies. Grieving occurs when you lose something so precious to you that something inside dies. To Mike, he lost the one person he calls his first love, Rosie. 

“I don’t know anymore Britney…” He once messaged me venting about the same thing.

“I just hate, I HATE the idea that she views me as this horrible person. Can you please just talk to her?” 

Mike has always asked me to talk to her. To convince her. But I knew that Rosie had set a boundary but Mike didn’t take the hint. He wanted her to fix him. He had dreams about her he would tell me, about the past and how it haunted him. I simply refused because I was afraid that I would lose my friend, but also because I knew her response would only disappoint him even more, leading him into a steeper spiral.

His obsession got even worse months later, to the point where he wanted to end it. He told me that he was gonna do it, he couldn’t take it anymore and he usually said this but this time it was different since he set up a day. I messaged most of his friends and some reached out to him on instagram but he restricted them from contacting him. The pressure laid on me, the only one who he was messaging, not ignoring. He didn’t know it was me who contacted his school to tell them what Mike was gonna do.

He attempted recently, but failed and was hospitalized for a week. I didn’t know until a week later when he messaged me. Mike told me he was diagnosed with depression.

“The Gray zone. Like you could be in the whitest part of the side and usually that’s the happy and cheerful side. The darkest part is sad and negative and shit. I’m in the middle… Just being a nonchalant depressed guy” he described to me his state. 

“Neutral but on an emo note,” I replied.

“Crazy take, but yeah.”

See, I didn’t truly captivate the severity of what Mike felt. However I knew about the severity that it could lead towards. In this case, Mike did the last option anyone could have taken which was giving up on life. Sometimes I hate having the heart that I do because I let his burden be my burden and he sometimes took that for granted. I just hope Mike knows that he does have friends who care, one at least. 

The National Institute of Health has said that “an estimated 5.0 million adolescents aged 12 to 17 in the United States had at least one major depressive episode.” Mike unfortunately was part of that statistic now but he is now finally getting professional help, taking medication, and is going to therapy. He said it still feels rough and that things are still haunting him, and I am all open ears hearing him out. I think all of us as a society should be kinder, but also start to value the importance of healthy relationships within oneself and between others, especially in families.