Part VIII: Don't Cry (Here, There, or Anywhere)

For my junior year of high school, my mom drove me late each day, and I told the lady at the office that “my mom called, I slept in because my new medication was making me tired.” 

Whether it be the repetition or lack of memory from what my high school halls looked like, or the uncanny familiarity with the notches on the rug—the image of me crying every day of my junior year of high school stuck. 

High school taught me that crying was never cool. Crying is a sign that something has gone wrong. It is meant to happen only if it has to happen—and if it needs to happen, it better only be in times of solitude. It’s only acceptable to cry under what society deems worthy of your time, energy, and tears. It’s okay to cry when your dog dies, when your grandma is diagnosed with cancer, or when you break your arm.

All of my teachers had seen me cry and most of the students. And when you cry that often and for that long, people no longer feel bad for you—they no longer try to comfort you, or stare until they think their concerning eyes will somehow help your situation. They stare with disgraceful eyes—ones that don’t say anything except you’re weak.

People watch in awe when you cry. They stare because they think something awful must be going on in your life. 

That’s when you realize you have crossed that threshold — the one you gripped onto with your four-year-old hands, and you know you’ve reached the certain point in which pity is not a factor anymore. 

They pathologize you. They pathologize you before your diagnosis is even given to you, before you even have the privilege to tell people because your invisible disability just turned visible and it’s no longer a choice. You are assigned tasks to try and fix the problem far before you figure out how you feel about it or what you’re going to do with it.

In my junior year of high school, when I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), my diagnosis confirmed to me what everyone else thought: that my behavior was deviant.