Childhood
Passing Passion
I can remember being eight years old, sitting in my one-piece school desk with lukewarm tears running down my cheeks. In an empty upstairs bedroom with no door. Fighting through the pain and tears, I can remember mumbling the question: "Why don't my parents have enough money?" They worked so hard and had nothing to show for it. "If only we had money." I was convinced that only money would end the abuse and alcoholism. For years my passion was to become wealthy. I could not find a reason aside from financial stress that my parents would hurt me so bad and for so long. I was twenty-three when my mother came knocking on my door on a mid-afternoon weekday. A confused expression stared back at her when I answered the door. "Do you love me?" She asked. Without hesitation, "Of course I love you." I replied. "I won a million dollars," she said. I could only describe the feeling as if the shackles that confined me my entire life had finally broken. I was now free. I was convinced we had just won happiness. It's not uncommon to hear that money does not buy happiness, but it's not far-fetched to idolize the idea that being financially sound would bring some happiness, right? In my case, this couldn't have been more wrong. I never realized just how broken I truly was until I eliminate all the excuses. Being financially stressed was equivalent to having a rug; all I could see was the rug, but I found all sorts of debris I never knew existed when I lifted the rug. The doctors referred to this debris as PTSD, Anxiety, Panic Disorder, and Depression. Now, a full-grown adult, I sit on my couch, in a messy house, with hair I haven't washed for over a week and clothes I have been in for days with lukewarm tears running down my cheeks. I mumble the question: "Why did no one help me? How did this go so unnoticed for so long?" "What can I do to change this, so no one has to feel the way I've felt?" I know from the years of therapy I've done that I only control myself and my actions. Every day, I make it my goal to share my experiences, feelings, and thoughts with those around me. I choose to treat people the way I want to be treated, with no expectation of seeing it in return. I share myself with others using different mediums such as social media, art and music, and writing. Throughout my journey, I've come to realize that our social system lacks the infrastructure of "preventative mental health." My passion now is to raise awareness and start building infrastructure for preventative mental health. I can only imagine what life would have been if there were more accessible places for me to go as a youth. I was unaware that addiction and mental health were why my parents were financially stressed and the reason I was a victim of abuse. Money was an excuse. Every day I have the intention to become this best version of myself. I know that by taking care of myself and overcoming my challenges, I can influence others that it is possible. One day I would like to open an arts center. A place where youth can go to communicate their inner thoughts through different art forms. A place where no external excuses can hold back youth from attending, such as financial stress. A social infrastructure that can identify and support youth who are susceptible to facing mental health adversities. From concerts, theatre, art exhibits, and all the endless possibilities in-between, we can support this idea financially without having to burden our youth with excuses and reasons for why they can't. I am confident that passing the passion for mental wellness and self-love, and care will bring the tool of wealth needed to support it.
By Drew Matousek5 years ago in Confessions
Why I'll Always Love Bedtime Stories
Some days I forget I'm not a child anymore. Some days I am full of nostalgia for everything 90's and 00's and I want to play Club Penguin and act seven again. Some days I crave the days where I had no responsibilities besides picking a bedtime story.
By Leigh Hooper5 years ago in Confessions
Wrong Puzzle Piece
A story about a time I did not fit in. I remember like it was yesterday. A smooth summer day, with the sun shining radiantly. The wind created a cool comforting breeze to balance the heat. There were cheers, laughter, and smiles all around me. Surrounded by the scenery of love and joy, at least that is what someone would conclude looking in from the outside.
By Steve Jackson5 years ago in Confessions
Capture the Flag
The summer program I went to after the seventh and eighth grades became fodder for my dreams way past late childhood when I had been a participant, right up until my adult years when I was trying to figure out what to do with my own kid for the month of July. It was billed as a pre-college program, the kind of thing that made my son shake his head and wonder out loud how I could be his mother. No, he did not want to do extra work for fun during his vacation, he let me know. I admit, I really had been excited about the courses I took on that old New England campus, but the biggest attraction wasn’t the academics, even though I got to do things like design and build model houses out of foam core in the architecture studio. The real draw was being set free on a college campus at the age of thirteen for three weeks without too much supervision.
By Kim Sillen5 years ago in Confessions
Culture Shock
Culture shock can be painful, embarrassing, or even deadly. What is killing me is the simple fact that it is even a thing anymore. I have experienced it myself, and have even feared for my own life from it. With the tools I have available to me now, I am embarrassed to say that I ever even felt such a way. The only reason for shock is an intolerance to another culture, and a forgetfullness that we are also human and animal and of the same Earth. It comes from a feeling that the ideas and values of that culture are threatening to our own. We who have the tools also have the duty to educate ourselves about any culture we should interact with enough so as not to be shocked by any interactions and also honor as much of thier heritage (much of which we likely share) as necessary to be respectful.
By Turtle Tank5 years ago in Confessions
My Journey Through My School Years and How I Came Out Stronger
In a way, I´ve always felt like I was out of place. I was the shy girl who would run and hide whenever put in a situation where I would have to be around a lot of people. I felt awkward and clumsy. From the time I was a child through, although slightly to a lesser extent, my adulthood, I found more peace being by myself. It's ironic, because I enjoy being around people, but I'm terrified of doing so. I consider myself an extroverted introvert, a work in progress. This was never more true than when I was in school.
By Judith Jascha5 years ago in Confessions
We are NOT alone
I did not fit in. I am not someone who blends in with the crowd easily. My personality exudes eccentricity. I’m nerdy, love art, and fangirl over books. Younger me tried as hard as she could to fit in. But standing before my middle school mirror smudged and scratched with vandalism, I hated what I saw. And I wanted control; it was my high.
By Issie Amelia5 years ago in Confessions
Ignorant Words
As a young child I had a terrible speech impediment. I went to a speech therapist three times a week. I was so self-conscious when the lady would stick her head in my elementary classroom and pull me from the normal lessons to go work on my ability to talk. ‘How could I not speak.’ I would often wonder. ‘Babies learn how to talk without a therapist having them do odd mouth exercises in front of a mirror.’ I loved words and reading, the vocabulary inside my head was large, but getting it to exist in an audible form was nearly impossible.
By Miah Crosby5 years ago in Confessions
A Multi-cultural social shock
Social shock It was my skin that caught them off-guard when the doors to the class opened to let me in. Or it was the expectation in their minds that a foreigner had come to their school, from another country, who spoke English fluently and had enrolled in the school halfway through the term, skipping most of year 9. I was just as surprised as they were. Meekly walking in after the principal, I raised my head to look at a class of 8 staring back at me with wide eyes, roving their eyes over the stiff uniform I wore awkwardly, down to the clean white running shoes that had not experienced Indonesia's tropical wear and tear yet. No, they knew immediately that I was a foreigner. However, I was a foreigner in a class full of locals at an international school. I was an Indian kid caught between multiple cultures and societies, struggling to fit in.
By Semanti Mukhopadhyay5 years ago in Confessions
SCAPEGOAT
It is human nature to want to belong, a basic need for most of us. I'm here as I'm supposed to tell you of a time I didn't belong, but I find myself struggling to pinpoint just one time that stands out from the rest. I feel like my whole life has been one situation after another where I just didn't quite fit in. I guess it all started where it probably started for you as well, and that's in school.
By Eva Slivka5 years ago in Confessions
Girls Bathroom Chronicles
The bell rang. Like clockwork each middle school student grabbed their book bags, hurrying to the cafeteria to sit with their friends, eat whatever was able to be choked down, and to talk about whatever or whoever was most intriguing at that particular moment. I hadn’t found my space, my group to sit with. There was no welcoming stares or friendly smiles from lunch mates who’d missed my presence or conversation. There was no one who remembered anything personal that I’d shared so they could follow-up and ask if things were working out now. There was no one I could trade dishes with, or pleasantly refuse when they ask for my double chocolate brownie that I grabbed to go with my otherwise boring lunch. In fact, I was terrified of the whole ordeal, terrified that I’d say something stupid and irretrievable, terrified that I’d further ostracize myself from all the comfortably social people, or just flat-out be rejected in a public and shameful way. I left no room for offense or open ridicule. I didn’t leave my fate in the hands of my classmates; I ate my lunch in the girls bathroom.
By Kimberly J McGill5 years ago in Confessions
