Middle School Depression

A few years ago, I was just entering middle school. It was a strange transition for everyone, I think. I remember looking around the classrooms and seeing how different people were.

For a while, it was just me. I was very shy and quiet, seemingly closed-off. I made a few friends during that year. We weren’t best friends but we were okay. You see, I moved around a bunch so making friends was difficult and made me feel awful because I just kept thinking that I’d move and never see them again.

I used to bring lunch and eat it in the school cafeteria; it was very crowded so I ate with acquaintances or friends. I didn’t talk much, really. I would eat my lunch, wait for the others to finish and then we would leave. I had joined a club, which meant that I was able to avoid eating in the cafeteria sometimes.

The teacher in charge, who was also my homeroom teacher, had medical problems so sometimes she wasn’t there, meaning we couldn’t go to the classroom for the club. I believe the club was YCW, Youth Crime Watch. I loved that club. I could grab a vest and a walkie-talkie then just go out and patrol the school. We usually had to go in pairs or groups because there weren’t many vests or walkie-talkies. Most of time kids would fool around and get us in trouble. I’m pretty sure that’s why they canceled the club after that year.

Anyway, I had finally made actual friends. They were my best friends in 5th grade but we had drifted apart when we entered middle school. God, I hated middle school. I don’t really remember what the three of us did during lunch though; well, besides staying in the classroom because one of my friends didn’t like patrolling. Actually, my other friend wasn’t even in the club because she was always late. Like I said earlier, middle school was strange.

When I wasn’t with my close friends, I was with some classmates. We would joke around and pretend we were the best of friends. It wasn’t that bad.

One day, I was standing by this pole by myself during our recess. They only called it recess if you were in the 6th grade. I was just standing there, listening to my music when someone approached me. I had seen her in my language arts class a few times but I never talked to her. She came up to me and started talking to me. Surprisingly, she knew my name. I knew hers too but I don’t think I should share that. Anyway, we were talking for a bit, kind of. Usually, when people talk to me, they get short responses and some awkward silences. I feel bad for them. I’m getting sidetracked. She was one of those people who used a lot of hand gestures while talking. I don’t remember what we were talking about but I noticed her bracelets. She had a lot of bracelets. It was a lot to me because I never really wore bracelets. I didn’t say anything or whatever because I was oblivious. She seemed happy and, at the time, I didn’t know what depression was.

After that encounter, I started wearing bracelets because I thought they were cool. The next year, I had realized that some of my peers were secretly miserable. I had also found out that nearly all of them were homosexuals and I was fine with that. I had started talking to a girl in my 7th grade language arts class. Yes, that class again. She sat in front of me and we both missed school a lot. I think we also had the same homebase teacher. They changed a lot of things that year. We had been friends in the 3rd grade when I moved to another area. She had given me some sort of gross sour candy that we both kind of liked, for some odd reason, but then I moved again in the 4th grade. She was really nice and extremely outgoing. Sometimes she scared me. We usually talked about what book she was reading. I remember her bringing Fifty Shades of Grey to school. She covered it with a paper bag. I thought that was really cool. She was really cool. She was also depressed. I didn’t know it, at the time. She had always worn bracelets and long sleeves. I thought she was always seated in front of the air conditioner, like I was, so I didn’t really know. We kind of got closer and she started to drop hints without really knowing it. I didn’t even really know it. She was depressed and so were many other girls who were kind of my friends. I wish I had known. I wish I had seen the cuts earlier. I wish I had helped. One day, we were sitting at our desks, playing Tic-Tac-Toe or something. We moved the desks so that they were together and we were facing each other. The teacher was out so we didn’t have anything to do. This was sometime after I had figured it all out, not really. Her bracelets moved up her arm a little and I saw her scars. I didn’t know what to do so I didn’t do anything. I didn’t say anything and I regret that. After that, I started to observe the people around me more.

One of my other friends was cutting herself too. I let her talk to me about it. She said she was tired of it all. She was dating one of my other friends, who was sort of a delinquent. They’re both girls. I thought that was cool. She told me that her family didn’t care and that nobody would miss her if she died. I told her that wasn’t true. I would miss her. We were pretty close. I didn’t want her to die. I didn’t tell her it was selfish or anything negative. I just listened to her talk about how much she hated her life and how much people hated her. When she was done, I did my best to make sure she knew that I actually cared about her well being. I told her she was loved and that things would eventually get better. Things did get better. It may have taken years, but she’s happier now.

So many other people around me wanted to die. After a while, I kind of did too.

My parents argued a lot when I was in middle school and while I was in the 5th grade. We had financial problems. I think we were in debt. Actually, we still kind of are but they don’t argue as much as they used to. It got so bad that my mom would just leave and come back a few days later. My dad got to stay because he paid rent. My mom’s check paid for my supplies sometimes and other things we needed. She didn’t get much. My dad didn’t get much either but I didn’t know that. One night, their argument ended with my brother yelling at them and my mother leaving with a suitcase. I was getting sick and tired of their arguments too. I wanted them to get a divorce. I also wanted to run away or die. I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t tell anyone.

Every time I felt like talking to someone, I remembered overhearing a group of girls talking about someone who had been caught for cutting herself. They said she was just doing it for attention. I didn’t want attention. I just wanted to die. Actually, I just wanted to be happy. It started during the summer of 6th grade and it still hasn’t really ended. Some days, I feel like I’m going to be okay, like I’m living my life to the fullest and I’m invincible. Most days, I don’t care at all and want to die. I’m not saying that middle school ruined my life or anything. I’m just saying that it all started when I was in middle school.

I almost went through with it in May. It was the furthest I ever got. I was home alone and just really down. I thought that nobody would care. I thought that everyone would be happier if I died. I probably would have done it if my uncle didn’t pull up in front of my house.

I want to get better. I want to ask for help before I change my mind again. For years, I have thought that wanting to kill yourself was completely normal and that I just had to deal with it because they were so many other people around me thinking the exact same thing. I thought I was just a normal kid. Kids shouldn’t have to go through that. I don’t want to go through it. I want to ask someone to help me get better. I want to be okay. Am I just overreacting? Is there something really wrong with me? I should probably tell my parents. Hopefully, I get through this.