by Samuel Kirk<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Every time it happens I\u2019m conflicted. The situation is always the same, say for a few minor details, but the overarching story is one that gets repeated time and time again. Sitting in class, eating at a restaurant, overhearing a conversation on the bus, each and every time the same dialogue goes through my mind. Do I speak up? Is it really worth it to share my view? How much of an impact can one conversation make? <\/em>Each and every time, it ends the same way. <\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Every time, it\u2019s just a passing comment. Casual uses of increasingly common words and phrases. There\u2019s no malintent in any of it, at least none that I can pick up on. To call them na\u00efve would be untrue, they aren\u2019t inexperienced or lacking judgment, simply using a language the way they were taught to use it. There\u2019s simply a gap between what they\u2019ve gone through and what I myself have experienced. I never hold it against them. After all, no one should be held accountable for something they themselves don\u2019t know. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Every time, I find myself contemplating the validity of my feelings. Do I have the right to feel this upset? Maybe I am just being too soft. <\/em>Words can\u2019t hurt me. Words shouldn\u2019t <\/em>hurt me. Yet it never fails to make me relive the pain I went through. But everyone else has gone through something similar, it\u2019s just life, right? Part of being human is having those shared emotions, those shared feelings. It\u2019s what allows us to connect with each other and is part of the reason we are social beings. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Every time, I relive the pain. My brain creates a slide projector filled with my worst experiences and projects them on to my consciousness. Snapshots of my life, whirring around my mind, relentlessly forcing me to recall all the stress, all the aches, all the unpleasant memories I shoved deep into my psyche. Memories of days where I was paralyzed because of my own thoughts. Days where I didn\u2019t leave bed, too afraid to face the world outside and the horrors I had dreamed up. Days where being asleep was the only time I felt alive. Times where talking to those I love became a chore. Times where seeing another person meant another round of faking a smile. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m reminded of the look on my mom\u2019s face when she asks why I look so exhausted. The look on my dad\u2019s face when he has to come home from work early because my brothers aren\u2019t able to calm me down. I feel that endless void in my gut again, eating away at any joy I had left in my life. I feel the same darkness I felt all those years ago, reemerging to haunt me wherever I go. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Every time it happens, it\u2019s the same scenario. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI have really bad anxiety, I get nervous before tests.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Every time it happens, it\u2019s the same set of phrases. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m super depressed, some days I just need my coffee or I know it\u2019s gonna be a bad day.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Every time it happens, I\u2019m conflicted. \u201cI\u2019m so OCD, I check my phone every five minutes to see if there\u2019s a new notification.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Because every time it happens, I know that in a way this is what I wanted all along. When I was curled up in my bed, fighting off the demons in my mind, the only thing I wanted was someone to talk to. I didn\u2019t want it to be abnormal to talk about. I didn\u2019t want my life experiences to be a taboo topic. Now I don\u2019t know what I find more infuriating, not being able to use the words I need, or having those words used so much they\u2019ve lost meaning. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Because every time it happens, I want to make the distinction. I know what they mean, that they feel anxious before tests. That they\u2019ve been feeling depressed recently. That they compulsively check their phone. All of these are universal feelings, and I know that. Having anxiety, having depression, and having OCD are not. It\u2019s a small detail, but it\u2019s one that always sends me down this same thought cycle every time. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Because every time they use the mental illness in place of the emotion, it invalidates my experiences more. The words few words I have to accurately describe what I went through slowly have their connotation changed to something with less power and is ultimately removed from what I experienced. These words no longer carry the same weight I need them to. The same tension that they should. Slowly they become synonyms for worried, sad, and excessive, rather than the words I needed when I was in my darkest place. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Every time it happens, the outcome is the same. The slide projector runs out of pictures to show, and I\u2019m snapped back into reality. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Every time it happens, I say the same thing: nothing. Because those same thoughts that tortured me have come back, and this time they convince me not to speak my mind. Who wants to hear what I have to say anyways.<\/em> <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Samuel Kirk Every time it happens I\u2019m conflicted. The situation is always the same, say for a few minor details, but the overarching story is one that gets repeated time and time again. Sitting in class, eating at a restaurant, overhearing a conversation on the bus, each and every time the same dialogue goes… <\/p>\n