. . .
The fall of my seventeenth year I came to terms with the fact that I was depressed, horribly, nightmarishly, insufferably depressed. This was not a new revelation be any means, simply a somewhat new acceptance. I accepted the fact that I had very few friends that I felt close to, rarely went out and if I did I was alone, spent hours upon hours surfing through the “sad”, “messed up”, and “depressed” tags on Tumblr, slept in irregular intervals that ranged from eighteen hours a day to not at all, and ate very little, and what I did eat I usually wouldn’t allow to stay down. I’ll leave that to the imagination.
Until my “incident” (as my shrink enjoys calling it) my parents knew very little of my situation. They only knew that I felt unhappy quite often, ate very little and infrequently, and had very few friends. I vowed to keep them unaware, hopelessly unaware of just how messed up their seemingly perfect son was. I don’t blame them, it’s by no means a cheerful subject, quite the opposite obviously. Whenever you picture a depressed teenager it’s most always a white, slightly emaciated girl in the prime of her teenage years, pale face, the occasional scars decorating her wrists, etc. It’s just not something that black guys deal with right? Wrong.
Before the beginning of last summer my parents told me that they were sending me to a therapist. For some reason, unknown to me or them, I found this comical. Imagining myself laying on a faux leather couch in a room covered in wall to wall bookshelves, divulging my most private secrets to a ma...
... middle of paper ...
..., Kai, and Rachel, my usual group. Before the run Marcus and Rachel managed to stop being extra so oh-my-god-I-love-you long enough for us to stretch.
“Looks like you’ve been working extra hard for the beach on Spring Break!” Marcus said obviously staring at Rachel’s butt.
“Oh you noticed!” Rachel said trying to be coy, “You looking pretty sexy today too babe!” she then wrapped her arms around his waist and pecked him on the cheek.
I was about to comment on the sheer awkwardness of the situation, but Kai beat me to it.
“If this episode of awkward and slightly gag worth high school romance is over, I’d like to start running now.”
This is why Kai probably my best friend.
The rest of practice was pretty normal. I even shaved thirty second off of my five mile time! Which would’ve been great if I didn’t have this major pain in my chest the whole time. Weird. . .
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