Two years ago, I was being “kidnapped”.

     That “kidnap” was a cycle that I could not crawl out of, a weird feeling that I could not get rid of, and a belief that I was such a failure... That weird feeling, as if gloominess and haziness were monsters that engulfed me in murkiness, again overwhelmed me. I was confused. I was terrified.

       Crying was the most frequent thing that I did at that time. There were tears——plenty of tears——made my pajamas wet. My room was inundated with the pungent smell of alcohol, and the mask on my face made me feel like I was submerged in the deep ocean that made me barely breathe. There was no coziness. The originally comfortable room was now full of sterilization supplies——Yes, it was the Covid quarantine. When can this come to an end? Can I live a normal life and not just be locked in my room? I was crying for an answer, an outlet, but fully aware of the fact that no one would dare to respond to that.

       Every day I had seemed like a year, and the numbness towards the hope of life accumulated day by day. Stress from academics, not being able to go out of my room, and more importantly, being unable to socialize with my friends in person became the last straw that completely crushed me down. Why do I have to experience all of these? What is the purpose for me to live in such a miserable life? That night, for the first time, the idea of hurting myself emerged in my mind. I could feel that the originally optimistic, positive, and lively Susan was gradually fading away—I realized that something was wrong with me. I called it the “Covid-syndrome”.

       I was confined in the endless tide of depressed mood. Multiple nights were like this for the rest of the month. Tears, misery, pain, and stress devoured me. The feeling of inadequacy indeed broke me into pieces. Barely having faith in life beyond hurting myself, there seemed to be no purpose for me to face all the daily tasks. I doubted if my groaning despair was that loud that God could not even spare the attention. Maybe I’ll just leave… in a more peaceful way. But why continue existing?

       One day, when I was aimlessly browsing YouTube, a short video titled—“You Are Not Alone” popped up. The video was about the process of how a group of teenagers who were victims of bullying and abuse being able to disperse the “hazes” in their lives through exercising, drawing, or even learning new skills such as cooking. When I saw people of similar age as mine, I was moved by how they were able to overcome their problems. I mean… their issues were much more serious than mine, and they could even get through their problems, but I still could not? Indeed, this video provided me with some courage to help myself out. That night, my lackluster room was slightly balanced out with a glaze of warm color.

       Should I listen to music, or should I draw pictures? Should I simply do some workouts for thirty minutes? I started to organize my daily plan in the hope of making my day more productive. You can do this, this is only a small challenge in your life, and you will eventually get over it. I reminded myself.

       For the first few weeks, I tried to listen to music every day to release my stress. The clear and silvery sound lingered around my ears, elevating my mood slightly. But whenever I stopped the work that I was doing, a sense of extreme forlornness and hopelessness would sweep through my mind. The thoughts of hurting myself, sneaky like a worm, squeezed its way back so easily when I was straining under the unbearable weight of my own existence. Ridiculous! I wanted to live a better life, but I couldn’t. How come the life I was experiencing became the modern version of Sisyphus, but the only problem was—what was I being punished for? Maybe there is simply no way for me to get better. I am such a failure. I could not accomplish anything, and just a simple quarantine was powerful enough to break me down… I thought to myself. That moment, I hated the world around me to a great extent. Indeed, my heart was locked again.

       “Hey, are you okay?” one of my friends asked, “I do not think you are very well, something wrong?”

       “I mean…I am okay.”

       Convoluted, “What do you mean? I feel like you have been feeling pretty low and refused to talk to me recently. That’s a huge problem!”

       I stated, “It’s just the quarantine thing that made me so frustrated. I cannot control myself for not feeling so depressed. It feels like I fell off a cliff and no one could help me out.”

       Her tone changed drastically, “Don’t say that! You have me! I can be your shield to heal your broken heart. Remember, you are not alone. I know you have gone through some emotional changes, but the sun will always come out right?”

       “Thank you, you are such a nice person. You have made my day.”

       With my “unprecedented” happiness for the past month, I lighted a candle as a way of relaxation. The scent of roses lingered throughout my room and seemed to fill my brain to slow me down. She was the last rose in my barren land, was the only lighthouse in the vast ocean of my heart and was the silver lining in my messy life. I truly believed that she was the key that unlocked my heart, and she gave me the courage to mend my life. “Supportive” was the most suitable adjective to describe her on top of my head.

       Starting from that time, I felt like I seized a life-saving straw and began getting used to her company. For instance, I started to set up Zoom meetings with her to review for exams together. Also, I tried to do workouts with her through video calls. Things were getting better, weren’t they? If not surprisingly, a supportive friend at this point would be a gratifying savior for someone like me, dragging me out of the vortex, and together we made it. Yay! Like most of the girl movies would guarantee you such a storyline. I thought I would be lucky enough, just like the protagonist in those movies, until one day…

        “Susan, are you having depression?” One of my classmates suddenly texted me one day. In a few days, messages like these popped up on my social media frequently. Why do they all say that I have depression? How do they know? I thought to myself but could not figure out an answer. Now, a lot of my classmates knew that I had “clinical depression” (ironically, the kind of depression that was not even being officially diagnosed).

       “Who told you that I got depression?”

       “A person you will never think of hopefully.”

       “Hmmm, what do you mean?” I was so confused by her words.

       “It was your best friend at school. I do not want to break your heart, but I really want to tell you the truth. She told us that she felt terrible being with you, as if she felt like she was shrouded with dark clouds every single day.”

       “Oh? Thanks for letting me know” I tried to maintain my tone flat because I did not want my classmate to hear me crying out loud.

Silence. The kind of extreme silence that you could even clearly hear a needle dropping on the floor. The sense of coldness enveloped my room once again. My classmate’s words became a sword that stuck right in my nearly healed heart.

         I cannot believe she has done this to me, but why? Maybe she never really thinks I am her friend. The feeling of betrayal forced me to question myself. People didn’t see me shiver uncontrollably when my sadness arose once again. They certainly didn’t see me cry my heart out because of such betrayal. What they didn’t know was how hurtful those words could be for a depressive person, and they didn’t understand how hard it was for someone to truly understand my experience. I hated to admit but when fake friends failed you, your parents would magically be the launching pad holding you as your always-been-there friends. Often, I would forget about that. I still remember when asked about what I should do when my best friend betrayed me, my mom said, “Never put your full trust in anyone except your family members because you will surely get hurt when the person betrays you. It may sound a bit tedious but always keep in mind that your dad and I are your strongest shields. We will support you no matter what happens. Do not let other people’s blind kindness fool you.” I mean… trusting someone is not guilty, it is your wholehearted commitment to someone who doesn’t deserve you that makes you vulnerable.

       “But what am I supposed to do now? I have already tried to do things I like before such as listening to music, and it did not work out!”

        My mom patiently responded, “Don’t rush. Do you really love the things you have done? If not, no matter how many times you have done it or how hard you have tried, it is never going to work. Remember, you need to find your true passion and be able to stick to it.”

        At that moment, my mom’s words became a clock that woke me up, and I realized that the reason that my depressed feeling did not go away even if I listened to music was that I did not truly like doing it——it was only for a specific purpose. Based on such an idea, I started to re-think what I enjoyed. Staring at the stack of fictions, non-fictions, and poems that I already read through on my desk, an idea suddenly sprouted in my head——why not try writing first? From that day, I started to record my feelings through diaries and sometimes I even wrote fictions related to my own experiences. Gradually, I found out that I eventually discovered my passion—writing.

       Through writing a variety of diaries, short stories, and even original poems, I could feel that Mm pen became my weapon that helped me fight against the negativities of the world around me. I had to admit that my mom was the saver of my life. Even though she was sometimes quite nagging, she was extremely helpful in shaping who I am as a person today.

      Yes, my mom unlocked my heart.

      I felt so lucky to be born in such an open-minded family with abundant cares and supports. At the beginning, I thought I was my own general in this war against my depressing period, but now, I felt fortunate for my decision of seeking for advice from my family members. This further confirmed my mind of cherishing my time with my family.

     Anyways, writing was not the end of my self-healing journey though. With much pride, I established a self-healing group that connected teenagers who had the same problem as mine. I continue to organize online meetings to share our experiences and even host events for us to discover and do the things that we enjoy together recently. I could still recall how most of the members told me that they experienced improved emotional stability after joining the group.

    Their growth unlocked my heart.

    By healing others, I could feel that my scars were also being healed. The beauty of life is indeed the process of self-redemption when experiencing a variety of obstacles that can help transform us into more mature individuals. My war of fighting against the Covid situation was honestly one of the darkest periods of my life, but just because of this, it motivated me to delve into this mysterious but meaningful field of science——Psychology. This ultimately became the reason why I chose to take AP Psychology at DAIS as my first step in reaching my goal of being a psychologist in the future. Basically, I truly wanted to apply the knowledge to help more people, not just at school nor in my city, but around the entire world.

    Only when you have been in the rain, you want to hold an umbrella for others.