Who Knew?

I remember in middle school

the robotics kids would write quotes on the walls of the tech ed classroom

and one day I read “is anyone ever okay?”

as it was scrawled atop the whiteboard.

I pointed it out and it got a good laugh.

Who knew, that as I repeated that phrase, nudging my friends, and smirking with a chuckle, that it would ring truer each time?

Who knew that I would slowly see my friends become so not okay?

And who knew I would miss them so much when they left to fight a battle that I could never dream of,

even in my nightmares?

A world of silly little quotes on walls came crashing down.

Who knew that entering high school, I would come to see 20% of people my age diagnosed with depression?

This number is the person sitting next to you.

It is the girl who uses makeup to cover up the trail of tears.

It is the boy who hardly speaks because he is afraid he might spill.

It is the friend who you least suspect.

It is the cousin who’s picture was plastered over Facebook with “prayers and condolences to your family” layered in the comments section.

Because who knew?

Who knew when they opened up the diary of the girl who had lost that battle, every page would be scarred with the thoughts that she never allowed out of the dungeon of her mind?

Who knew?

I was a bystander.

I was the moon watching the stormy waves crash against the beach.

I watched the laughter slip from their eyes.

I watched the passion drain from their faces.

I hugged them when they came home.

Like a girl who has lost control of her car grips the wheel right before she crashes,

I was afraid that when I let go

I’d lose it all again.

As society turns a blind eye to the 45,000 Americans who commit suicide each year,

and the adults tell them to toughen up,

and the friends are afraid to ask if they're okay in fear of it being too awkward,

and my own school doesn’t allow us to google “suicide” in the search engine because they are worried about what we might find

when they should know that if anyone ever did the first thing to come up would be a hotline that could save their life.

As if the world rather us wire our mouths shut then allow the mouths of the people who want to be heard to open.

While sometimes sympathy may hurt,

silence kills.

I can’t stand here,

with my heart intact.

I can’t put on a “brave” face,

as if I wasn’t fearing who we’d lose next.

Who knew

that the scariest things teens would come to face one day,

would be ourselves?