Sonder: Youth Mental Health Stories of Struggle & Strength | Page 91

This is how I got here.
It started in eighth grade. The ugliness, I mean. It looked like
pulling away from all of my friends and eating lunch in the
teachers’ office and crying for no reason. It looked like a lot of
smiling and saying, “I’m just tired.”
The ugly was pulling over on the side of the road and screaming
into my hands because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could
do this. The ugly was sobbing on my bedroom floor and sleeping
there because I didn’t have the energy to get into bed. The ugly
was the cutting. The ugly was biting my thumb during a movie so
nobody could hear my teeth chattering with panic. The ugly was
looking into a mirror and having no idea where or who I was.
The bad happened freshman year. The bad was the waiting
-- the year I spent gathering the resolve to reach out for help.
The bad was living through the three slow months after I finally
did to secure a therapy appointment. The bad was the first
therapist, who told me that “such a pretty girl shouldn’t have
problems like this.” The bad was the second, who didn’t believe
I was transgender. The bad was Lexapro, which made me want
to die. The bad was basically all of high school.
The good has come recently. The good is finding my current
therapist, who uses my pronouns. The good is finding yoga and
deep breathing, even though I would’ve punched someone who
suggested those activities to me not so long ago. The good is
swing dancing, going hiking, riding out the perfect wave while
boogie boarding, and playing something in Cards Against
Humanity that makes me laugh until my jaw hurts. The good is
french toast with extra syrup and blowing out birthday candles
and watching the New Year’s ball drop.
Resilience  89