I was surviving. However, there is a difference between living and surviving. I was doing the bare minimum required for life, and remained content. By this time, it was almost time for freshman year to start. I had made it through most of the summer self-harm free, for the most part. I occasionally left little trails of blood across my hip, but nothing major. Everyone seemed to think I was doing better.
One of the reasons everyone thought I was doing better was because I was too busy for them to see my pain. I had summer reading, and marching band to worry about during the summertime. There was barely a spare moment to cry in front of someone, not that I did anyways. Looking back, I realized that I hadn’t healed one bit since my release from the hospital. I had just learned how to survive a bit longer.
Just because I would smile or laugh, didn’t mean I was happy. No one seemed to understand that. Everyone just thought that I was cured, and the depression was gone. Well, guess what guys. It wasn’t. It may have been hidden a bit better, but I promise you, it was definitely still there.
Each day was a challenge. Even though I brushed it off, every simple action took a toll at me. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell that I was suicidal and depressed just by looking at me, or even by talking to me. I would go swimming, hang out with friends, and be social just like any teenager “should” be, but I wasn’t inside.
It was almost time for school again. I had gotten my schedule, and I would walk into Mooresville High School in a week. It was nerve racking, because I knew everything would change, yet again. People may have told me that middle school and high school were almost the same, but I would never believe it. I heard the stories of the being shoved into lockers, not that I could fit anyways, and getting your head flushed.
So simply, high school scared the hell out of me.