Sometimes, you come across inspiration in unexpected places. I love the news, but I honestly find it quite depressing most of the time. I often skip over stories, even if they have positive titles, just because gems aren't common.
While on Yahoo today, I came across one article I couldn't pass up, not only for the title, but the picture they used with it. It was unassuming, but something about it struck a chord with me, and I read it. It was simple, about an anonymous note found in a college woman's restroom, a response to several confessions of varied natures on the walls of the stalls. I found it inspiring in a way that very few things strike me these days, and actually sat here, in my desk chair, crying for a good five minutes, amazed at the extraordinary kindness and understanding of some individuals. Let me give you an example from my own past.
When I was a freshman in high school, I had a difficult time adjusting to life in the big leagues (yes, this is honestly what I thought of my high school). I came from a small town outside of Tucson and had known the people I went to school with from kindergarten. Seeing so many new faces was quite a drastic change for me, and was, in a word, overwhelming in an epic fashion. I was by no means unable to make new friends, but I still craved the intimacy that I was accustomed to in elementary and junior high. I missed my old friends, my old life. I wanted this new exciting time, but I wanted that time back as well.
Boys were the hardest part to get used to. I had been endlessly teased by the people I grew up with for being tall and skinny, big glasses and braces, and generally awkward. All of a sudden, that changed when I got into high school. Contacts helped some, but mostly, it was the anonymity that came with a new school. Most of these people knew nothing about me, so I wasn't haunted by the ghost of geeks passed any longer. I varied my crowd, but I hung around a lot of boys. This got me into more trouble than it was worth.
I ended up in a hospital for trying to commit suicide about halfway through my freshman year. Many reasons lead to it, but I think a big contribution also included problems I couldn't fix and the need for something familiar beyond my home life. I really missed the way things used to be, and at times, felt very alone in the world with nobody who could possibly understand. I know now that this wasn't true, and I had people to turn to, but I didn't realize it then. Hindsight is always 20/20.
My best friend since kindergarten called me right after I fired my dad's gun into the bathroom wall, and she stayed on the phone with me until my mom got home and found me, and I think it scared her more than it did me. We lost whatever made us stay close after that, and although I didn't understand then, I understand now. I have never thanked her for being there, and I don't know if she will ever know how grateful I was to her for not hanging up the phone. That would have been the easy thing to do, but she stayed there, hanging on the line as I cried incoherently until my mom got there. Amanda, thank you for that. I might not be here if it wasn't for you.
My parents, of course, reacted like parents do and took me to the hospital, where I was admitted for a psychiatric evaluation to see if I was stable enough to endure being at home. I was there for about ten days. The halls were cold and sterile, and I was terrified and shaking as I was led to my room. I opened the door to a large space with two beds, two small night stands, a bathroom, and two small desks. There was a window on the far wall and a girl asleep in the far bed. I was more afraid of taking the first steps into that room than of anything I had ever been in my short life.
When the door closed behind me, the girl in the other bed turned over, smiled at me, and went back to sleep. I felt less afraid because of that smile, but still didn't sleep until I was given medication that forced it of me. The next morning, I woke up with a fuzzy head and no recollection of where I was. I looked around me, terrified that I had been shipped off, when the girl in the bed next to me rolled over and began talking to me. She, too, was in the hospital for attempted suicide, and had been there for a couple of days. She helped me get to the shower, showed me the trick to get the hot water on, and dried my hair for me when I got out. She even had a small bag with blush and mascara in it, and we giggled as we put on what little makeup we had at our disposal.
When we were allowed to stay in our room, we had long conversations about what life was like for each of us. Her parents were struggling with a relationship and she was in one with a guy that was abusing her at every opportunity and she felt she had no way out. I explained my reasons, opening up to her more than I ever did my therapist or anyone else at the hospital. I felt I had an outlet, someone to explain everything that had been happening, and she seemed to be going through a lot of the same situations as me. It helped.
I didn't tell my family until many years later the full extent of the things that had happened to me that first year of high school. I didn't tell anyone except that girl with the dark eyes and easy smile, the only person in the world to hold my secrets for a long time. She left about four days after I arrived, and I never spoke to her again. I hope she is healthy and happy somewhere, with a family and a career she enjoys. She talked about being a teacher, and I hope she followed her dreams.
Although I can't remember her name, the lessons I took from her were something I never forgot. If I met her on the street today, I probably wouldn't recognize her. But if I did, I would hug her. I'd say thank you for listening. Thank you for being there when I had nobody to turn to. Thank you for saving my life, and my future. Although ultimately there have been many decisions that have lead me on my current path of happiness, all of them would have ended without a phone call and a sympathetic ear. Sometimes, all we need to know is that someone out there cares.
Comments