The well-crafted mask of normalcy ...
Rickey Leary was in my American Literature class in 2014. From my vantage point, he was the friendly, well-liked, hard-working kid who embraced his own playful nerdiness. In the picture below, for instance, he is being awarded a medal for answering the most extra credit questions correctly in any of my classes, a testament to how hard he worked and how carefully he read the material (Nate Abernethy is the photobomber).
And that is why this post, which Rickey wrote several weeks ago, came as such a shock to me. To find out that Rickey was in his own private hell while he was goofing through his day and getting all those extra credit questions … well, it shook me up. To hear that he was severely depressed while a student in my class, and that I didn't notice, has made me think twice about my ability to read the signs.
As teachers we are always told to look for signs. Every year we sit through long and necessary presentations from our student support staff about watching out for the telltale signs of depression or the potential for self-harm. Listlessness. Lack of interest. Pessimism. Verbal or written references to any of these things. I had Rickey in class from September to June -- and I saw nothing.
Of course, as you’ll see from his post, Rickey was deeply invested in creating an outward persona that covered up all of the pain. I will let him explain, but I have to say that the experience of working with him on this piece has been a humble reminder that often appearances deceive.
Rickey is doing well these days. He has been going to San Diego State University since August of 2014, where he changed his major from Astronomy to Classics (Ancient Greek and Roman art, history, and culture). He hopes to graduate in Spring 2019 with a BS in Classics with an emphasis in Classical language with honors and minors in history and interdisciplinary studies. His long-term goal is to be a professor in classics, but teaching high school history and Latin is also a possibility.
- C.H.
The following probably runs drastically different than what you remember of me from high school. For most who knew me then, I was generally happy, energetic, and studious. But I had deep-seeded personal problems that I never let anyone see. It eventually reared its head as anxiety, isolation, and depression. I was often in a dark place, burdened by my thoughts of inadequacy, yet I never really released them in a healthy way. Only one time did a crack appear in my façade.
February 28th, 2012 was that day. The day when my grandmother, who I had grown up and lived with for most of my memory, had a massive stroke. The next day, in homeroom, the crack manifested itself with me crying in class. And I remember vividly how ashamed I was that I had burdened my classmates with that image of me, suddenly bursting out in tears and being led into the hallway to compose myself. I remember, upon entering the class again, looking down in embarrassment to eyes and whispers. I remember the loneliness, perching on my shoulders like some eagle, plucking out my soul with each passing moment. I remember when people asked about what happened, I usually replied it was nothing and then smiled. See, if you smile convincingly enough through anything, most people won’t really ask you again if they are uncomfortable or satisfied with the result, and they drop it.
The thing I remember most, though, is how I told none of my friends about the internal anguish, the abject, abyssal loneliness, and the suffering, even guilt, that I was experiencing.
This is my biggest regret from high school. Not the classes I should’ve taken, nor the people I wished I had asked out on dates -- rather, the regret of not leaning on the friends I had. I had overweening pride, hubris even, that I was strong enough to get through it. Hell, I leaned on no one when my dad had Stage 3 esophageal cancer when I was 10. I just studied harder, and, hey, I was fine. It was nothing I couldn’t handle myself. Except I was wrong.
By the time I realized I was drowning, it was too late, being in college with few friends, no confidence, anxiety, depression, insomnia, little drive left to do anything with a pipe dream of a future ahead. My inner strength was my greatest weakness; it led me to be a person who, still at times, puts up walls and can’t lead meaningful relationships outside of school and home for the most part. At one time, I was a just high functioning shut-in, whose main drive left was to deceive my parents into thinking that everything was fine by taking a full load of classes, staying by myself in the library until late hours, then coming home and sleeping.
Lying to the people who were reaching out to me -- this was the biggest mistake. I didn’t trust anyone and I was selfish and naïve for trying to promote such a fake self-image. I knew if I said this or that, my reputation as a goofy but smart goody-two-shoes would be out the window. Nobody wants to hear about the seeming perfectionist’s fall from grace. Nobody wants to hear about his imagined inadequacies. Nobody wants to hear about anxiety-induced insomnia that would keep him up ‘til four in the morning. Nobody wants to know the thoughts of how life would be better off without him and how It’s a Wonderful Life is just a sham. Of course, these thoughts were just idle passing whims, not to be really acted on. But still….
So why am I letting you see into the window of my true soul, and not the pull-down-blind façade that everyone else sees? I think it comes down to regret and fear -- and perhaps to save you from the same. What kind of regrets? The regrets of the relationships that I let disintegrate after high school with most of my better friends. The regret of the inability to have many of those relationships now. The regret and fear of the intense struggle to be true and honest to yourself after lying to everyone, including yourself, for so long. The fear of ending up as another seemingly happy-go-lucky kid who loses himself completely.
So listen up. If you are depressed, anxious, fretful, lacking in self-confidence, going through pain or suffering, let me give you my advice:
Friends are meant to help you and you are meant to help them. They might be going through something similar, so commiserate together. They want to know. Air your feelings. Resist the urge to isolate. Somebody wants to know. You can manage depression by talking it out with a therapist, taking medication if prescribed, and relying on your friends, family, and teachers. But take it from me, it’s much harder if you shut yourself off from the support system. Struggle to make connections. And always remember, even if you feel yourself on this path or starting down it, you can get off. Reach out. Cry out. Call a hotline. Someone will listen and help. Be honest -- because for every smile after an “it’s nothing” is a grimace or sigh somewhere else, and those fake smiles hurt so much more over the long term. You are not a burden, so don’t suffer alone. You are wonderful (even if you yourself don’t believe it) and people will recognize you for you. Somebody wants to know.
Finally, don’t hesitate to contact me through my email rleary2014@gmail.com if you wanna talk through things or want advice. I’m probably a little more approachable than what I indicate above, and I’m a relatively nice guy. I want to know.
The following probably runs drastically different than what you remember of me from high school. For most who knew me then, I was generally happy, energetic, and studious. But I had deep-seeded personal problems that I never let anyone see. It eventually reared its head as anxiety, isolation, and depression. I was often in a dark place, burdened by my thoughts of inadequacy, yet I never really released them in a healthy way. Only one time did a crack appear in my façade.
February 28th, 2012 was that day. The day when my grandmother, who I had grown up and lived with for most of my memory, had a massive stroke. The next day, in homeroom, the crack manifested itself with me crying in class. And I remember vividly how ashamed I was that I had burdened my classmates with that image of me, suddenly bursting out in tears and being led into the hallway to compose myself. I remember, upon entering the class again, looking down in embarrassment to eyes and whispers. I remember the loneliness, perching on my shoulders like some eagle, plucking out my soul with each passing moment. I remember when people asked about what happened, I usually replied it was nothing and then smiled. See, if you smile convincingly enough through anything, most people won’t really ask you again if they are uncomfortable or satisfied with the result, and they drop it.
The thing I remember most, though, is how I told none of my friends about the internal anguish, the abject, abyssal loneliness, and the suffering, even guilt, that I was experiencing.
This is my biggest regret from high school. Not the classes I should’ve taken, nor the people I wished I had asked out on dates -- rather, the regret of not leaning on the friends I had. I had overweening pride, hubris even, that I was strong enough to get through it. Hell, I leaned on no one when my dad had Stage 3 esophageal cancer when I was 10. I just studied harder, and, hey, I was fine. It was nothing I couldn’t handle myself. Except I was wrong.
By the time I realized I was drowning, it was too late, being in college with few friends, no confidence, anxiety, depression, insomnia, little drive left to do anything with a pipe dream of a future ahead. My inner strength was my greatest weakness; it led me to be a person who, still at times, puts up walls and can’t lead meaningful relationships outside of school and home for the most part. At one time, I was a just high functioning shut-in, whose main drive left was to deceive my parents into thinking that everything was fine by taking a full load of classes, staying by myself in the library until late hours, then coming home and sleeping.
Lying to the people who were reaching out to me -- this was the biggest mistake. I didn’t trust anyone and I was selfish and naïve for trying to promote such a fake self-image. I knew if I said this or that, my reputation as a goofy but smart goody-two-shoes would be out the window. Nobody wants to hear about the seeming perfectionist’s fall from grace. Nobody wants to hear about his imagined inadequacies. Nobody wants to hear about anxiety-induced insomnia that would keep him up ‘til four in the morning. Nobody wants to know the thoughts of how life would be better off without him and how It’s a Wonderful Life is just a sham. Of course, these thoughts were just idle passing whims, not to be really acted on. But still….
So why am I letting you see into the window of my true soul, and not the pull-down-blind façade that everyone else sees? I think it comes down to regret and fear -- and perhaps to save you from the same. What kind of regrets? The regrets of the relationships that I let disintegrate after high school with most of my better friends. The regret of the inability to have many of those relationships now. The regret and fear of the intense struggle to be true and honest to yourself after lying to everyone, including yourself, for so long. The fear of ending up as another seemingly happy-go-lucky kid who loses himself completely.
So listen up. If you are depressed, anxious, fretful, lacking in self-confidence, going through pain or suffering, let me give you my advice:
Friends are meant to help you and you are meant to help them. They might be going through something similar, so commiserate together. They want to know. Air your feelings. Resist the urge to isolate. Somebody wants to know. You can manage depression by talking it out with a therapist, taking medication if prescribed, and relying on your friends, family, and teachers. But take it from me, it’s much harder if you shut yourself off from the support system. Struggle to make connections. And always remember, even if you feel yourself on this path or starting down it, you can get off. Reach out. Cry out. Call a hotline. Someone will listen and help. Be honest -- because for every smile after an “it’s nothing” is a grimace or sigh somewhere else, and those fake smiles hurt so much more over the long term. You are not a burden, so don’t suffer alone. You are wonderful (even if you yourself don’t believe it) and people will recognize you for you. Somebody wants to know.
Finally, don’t hesitate to contact me through my email rleary2014@gmail.com if you wanna talk through things or want advice. I’m probably a little more approachable than what I indicate above, and I’m a relatively nice guy. I want to know.
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