Devon Rooks
Bio
Black. Gay. Student.
Stories (6/0)
Siblings + Depression (Pt. 1)
I came home for the summer just in time to see my younger brother graduate from high school. The experience for me was, for lack of a better word, weird. On one hand, I was incredibly proud, of course, of this young man that I have seen grow up from birth. I remember him being small enough to hold in my arms and now he’s taller than me and has a raspy bass in his voice. I think back on the times I was so annoyed with him for following me around or copying the things he saw me do. I see how despite those times I’ve still managed to influence who he is in small ways. More so, I see my mother and my grandfather in him. I recognize the acceptance he has in the fact that his father won’t be at his graduation and how he’s at peace with that. I wish I’d been granted that same sense of acceptance.
By Devon Rooks5 years ago in Psyche
Freshman Year + Depression
Disclaimer: The following is an edited version of a speech I gave three years ago titled “What Starts Here Changes The World” about my first semester at the University of Texas. It was one of five entries in a themed showcase titled “Firsts.” Some ideas have been elaborated upon or rewritten for clarity and grammatical purposes but nothing has been taken out. There are some topics discussed below that time has given me a new understanding or recollection of. That being said, I wanted to present my truth, whatever it may have been at the time. Enjoy.
By Devon Rooks6 years ago in Psyche
Obesity + Depression
Outside of my depressive episodes, the only time I am self-conscious is when I’m with my family. Its hard enough feeling worthless when the actions of people you love seem to validate those feelings. I’ve gone back and forth for years caring and not caring about what my family feels about me but being home for the summer has seemed to both heal old wounds and open new ones. The latest obsession my family has with me is my weight. Now, I’ve always been big. I was always a fat kid and for awhile, I was the “oh, I just want to eat his cheeks” fat. Then I was the “damn, what are you feeding this kid, he’s gonna make a great linebacker” fat. By the end of middle school I was “kids make fun of him because of his size” fat.
By Devon Rooks6 years ago in Psyche
My Hometown + Depression
When I Was 10 I moved to Harker Heights, Texas, leaving my birthplace and hometown of Austin. Let me be clear when I say that, like a move is for most 10-year-olds, it was devastating. This hour drive meant leaving the best place on Earth, my very own Eden and moving to a desolate wasteland of suburbia in a deep dark corner of hell. By this time I wasn’t even a stranger to the whole packing up and starting over routine. I’d already done it four or five times. I’d been all over Texas, across state lines and overseas. But all roads always lead back to Austin. This move, however, even at that age, felt different. The permanence was obvious. From the custom build to the close proximity to a Veteran’s Affairs Hospital that my grandfather desperately needed, everything about this house and move was meticulously planned. This was my grandparents’ retirement home.
By Devon Rooks6 years ago in Psyche
There Are Things Worse than Wanting to Die
I used to want to die. And that, in and of itself, is a tragic epic about family drama, self-doubt, and the pressures of perfection. But why I wanted to die isn’t important yet. It just needs to be known that there was a time and space in which I existed where I wanted to end my life. So much so that I tried to prepare those closest to me for a world that didn’t have me in it. What a fucking plan that was. All that “preparation” did was end some of my most valued friendships and start a war with my mother that we don’t really talk about and never resolved. More importantly, it taught me that you could come to a place where you decide not to take your life and still lose it. But that’s neither here nor there now because the feeling that my life had value was short-lived. Honestly, I faked getting better (like ‘better’ isn’t a moving target) on some “I’m doing this for the people I love but more importantly I’m doing it for me” bullshit. All the while, for the last three years, I was going back and forth between saying “fuck this depression” and wanting to drive my car off of a bridge. ‘Was’ being the critical word there. Things are different now.
By Devon Rooks6 years ago in Psyche