Page 7 of Follow My Voice
“What’s wrong with you now?”
“Just get over it and move on.”
Some people don’t understand that our minds can get sick just like our bodies. When someone has the flu, no one says, “Just think about something else and it’ll go away.” If someone cuts themselves badly, others immediately say, “You should go to the hospital to get stitches!” But when you’re depressed, which can be a much deeper and more complex wound than any physical injury, no one believes there’s really anything wrong with you. And then these same people are so shocked when someone dies by suicide, claiming they never saw it coming, that they don’t understand how something like that could’ve happened, that they would’ve helped if they’d only known. So hypocritical. They could start by listening when someone needs to be heard, by not ignoring their pain as if that will make it magically disappear. I know some who are struggling might not want to be helped; some don’t give any signs that anything’s wrong. But there are individuals who do ask for help and are ignored or told that there’s nothing wrong with them.
“There are plenty of people who have it way worse in the world and you don’t see them complaining all the time.”
Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is the fact that there are others in worse situations supposed to make my feelings just go away? Does it somehow magically erase who I am, what I’ve been through?
“You’re such a crybaby.”
“You’re so needy.”
“You hurt yourself, that’s insane.”
Depression is not a decision; no one decides to move through life feeling hopeless, with the weight of surviving making every step taken feel heavier than the last. Who in their right mind would want to live every day with a pain so strong it’s practically suffocating?
I wish I could correct people who are dismissive of mental illness. Crying is simply expressing your feelings. No one complains when someone smiles, no one asks them to explain it. Happiness is not the only emotion in the world, so why does sadness have to be justified?
Expressing your needs is brave. It takes courage to set your fears aside and ask for the help you so urgently need.
Hurting yourself means you’re desperate. If someone has gotten to that point, I hope they find the help they need. I’m lucky that my sister is a psychiatrist and she understands what I’m going through; I can’t even imagine what other people are up against without someone close who will listen to them, who believes them.
In the park, Andy spreads a picnic blanket on the grass and we sit. “I’m so proud of you.”
I uncross my arms and reach down to touch the grass, so cool and soft.
Kamila rubs my back. “You did so well today.”
We’ve been going out little by little for a few months now. We started once a month, then once a week, and now we are doing it every other day, adding more distance each time but never more than fifteen minutes. In the beginning, I could barely get out the door; now I’ve made it all the way to the park. My progress is mostly thanks to my sister’s hard work and Andy’s support. They’ve both been so patient. They never push me to attempt other outings; they know this is what I’m comfortable with for the moment, a somewhat familiar routine.
After a few breathing exercises, it begins to feel good to be here, sitting on the grass, feeling the sun on my skin, even though I know I’m only able to do this because I have Kamila and Andy with me. I hope to one day be able to do it on my own, but I should still count this as progress.
I can see the lake in the distance surrounded by tall trees that still hold on to their lush green: my mother’s favorite place. Weused to come here a lot, in the end; even after she could no longer walk, we would bring her in her wheelchair to watch the sunset. I remember her sad smile as she said to me,“The view is so beautiful here. It’s interesting how we learn to value the little things when our time is limited.”I smiled back and she patted my face.“We should all live as if we were going to die tomorrow; we would have much fuller lives if we didn’t assume we had all the time in the world.”
I feel like I’m failing my mother every day that I spend locked away inside the house. The memory of her frail figure and pained expression interrupts the peaceful moment. My chest tightens. Death seems to be staring me in the face as I become acutely aware that I am outside, exposed to the world. A cruel and dangerous world, a place that is not safe; it was not safe for my mother, and it isn’t safe for me, either. The heaviness in my chest grows and I know it’s time to go home: my safe place. Where nothing and no one can hurt me. I take one last look at the hills in the distance, apologizing to my mother.
I’m sorry, Mom, I’m not strong enough to smile through it all. I’m not as strong as you.
When we get home, I take off my shoes and rush to my room. Kang’s show must be about to start, so I throw on my headphones as fast as I can.
Halfway through the show, he begins reading messages from listeners. Liliana again.
Maybe it’s because I accomplished staying outside for a few minutes, and I’m feeling good about myself despite my last-minute setback, but I don’t think twice as I take out my phone and type a message to the station. My heart jumps into my throat as I hitSend. He probably won’t even read it; he must get so many texts.
But, as if life suddenly decided to throw me a bone today, Kang picks my message. “Okay, I’m going to read the last message of theday. It says, ‘Dear Kang, your voice is a comfort for people who are having a hard time like me; you brighten my day and calm my nights. I will always follow your voice. With gratitude, K.’?”
Silence. Kang says nothing for a few seconds, and I swallow.Did I scare him? Did I sound too obsessive? Is this not something a nineteen-year-old girl would say?I can’t help but think this is yet another thing taken from me, the ability to be and act my age.
He clears his throat and finally speaks. “That’s very kind of you to say, K. Thank you for your message. I will always try to be here for you.”
It’s the first time I’ve communicated with him and, although it’s not the same as a face-to-face interaction, it’s a big step for me and it makes me feel good.Really good.
5Respond to Me
“I’M LOSING YOU.I’m losing you,” I sing loudly as I make myself a ham and cheese sandwich.
I’ve been in a really good mood lately. Maybe the new medication is finally starting to kick in—after trial and error with a few others, I think we’ve finally found one without serious side effects—or maybe it’s because I’ve been able to go to the park with my sister these past few weeks without having any panic attacks. Perhaps it’s a combination of everything. I set the sandwich on the table and, noticing that the trash can is full, I grab the bag to take it out. I get to the door, open it, and stop dead in my tracks.
