By Yahir Gonzalez-Torres (12th)

The Oxford Dictionary defines depression as “feelings of severe despondency and dejection.” Yet what the textbook definition fails to tell you is that depression is 6 o'clock feeling like 7, 8, and 9 o'clock, when only 3 minutes have passed. You stare at the ceiling fan for hours, watching every blade rotate individually. You are entwined with your bed on an atomic level, and when those two atoms split massive amounts of energy can be released. Yet you remain intimate with your bed sheets, because in this cold world THAT is the only thing that provides you warmth. These two atoms grow closer and closer, pulling you deeper and deeper into the crater that is your mind. We see massive amounts of energy, but this time, it's all negative. And this time you can't escape. Because this time, you let it win. A cure for this all? Yeah right. Maybe a pitiful “look on the bright side” when all you want to do is close your eyes and go to sleep. But I know you can live a happy ending. This is just a semicolon in your life; your life isn't over, a new one has just begun. So this time, do it right.

What the Oxford dictionary defines correctly is anxiety: “worry, unease, nervousness.”

Recently I discovered that the average human life has approximately 2 billion heart beats. With anxiety, it feels as if all 2 billion heart beats are cramped into one moment. You feel helplessly out of control of every detail around you. But these details are anything but miniscule. They are grand, and complex. They pierce your brain with negative thoughts, eat you alive, and crawl through your skin, and this, and that… And you're spiraling again, you're rambling, you're shaking, and your hands are sweating. And all you can do is fuel the fire. The helplessness set in and now, you have to wrestle alone with your thoughts. What will you do? Sink or swim?

The topic I chose to write about is. “Write about something only you can write about.” Any human can write about depression and anxiety. So “you” isn't the reader. YOU are the writer, and I, well I haven't figured that out yet. But I went and got measured, my waist, my shoulders. And this, all of this is specifically tailored to me. Only I can wear the burden that is my depression and anxiety. Only I can feel the honor of the triumph of my tribulations. And only I can tell my story of many tears.