Normal Days
It shouldn’t be normal to hear the words
“I want to be executed”
more than a couple of times per week (and how grand would it be if it wasn’t normal to hear them period.) but in my world it’s nothing. Who are we? Those kids among top academic performers in the country, 97% of us involved in sports, clubs, volunteer work, or work opportunities. It’s a cycle, the way we look on paper and the way we sound in real life. We make the school district shine, but our shine is long gone. And why?
Because we don’t take care of ourselves.
You know what else is normal? Casual college conversations. “Hey, Cathy, I got into Duke on almost a full scholarship. And I did it all by myself. I’m a smart girl.” Things like that from the girl who cries because she’s under so much pressure. “NYU keeps asking me to visit.” Things like that from the boy who never goes out with friends or sleeps because he has work to do. More of us than not aren’t okay and it’s so rare for a teacher to notice that when he asks, he’s met with silence because we don’t know how to respond. Any historical question and a few minutes will give you an essay but personal questions we haven’t been trained to handle. Four classes a day and it’s common to have three tests in one day, but we don’t get tested on our wellbeing.
Here’s the thing: we average at double the national standards of greatness, our future laid out as a bright and smooth path before us. But what is secretly laid out before us is an array of drugs to help us cope, manage, function, etcetera. Zoloft to treat PTSD, anxiety, depression. Adderall to force focus, high performance. They compete for the top spot. Others, some prescribed and some not, also circulate. Some take whatever will let them sleep once in awhile and others opt for anything that will keep them awake. A concoction will move among friends. The money we save on college gets dumped into drugs, therapy, and one big week-long party every few years to unwind. This is the place for future business leaders, political forces, technological and medical revolutionaries, what have you. It’s also a place where we stand in class and chat about suicide while we’re waiting for the teacher. It’s a place with hallways full of trophies, back to back championships running over a decade in length, pictures of the Olympians who call our “second home” their alma mater, and bodies made of chronic soreness by age sixteen.
And in our arms everywhere we go are computers, all fairly new but most fairly damaged as well. Their display is about as sleek as it gets, but we never see the home screens because we always have to have so many tabs open. More of us than not take at least two college courses on top of their high school workload and we just don’t have time to repose like high schoolers. Outsiders pay attention to us; insiders don’t. It’s a balance that can’t be toppled.
Mentally, emotionally, socially, physically; we are exhausted. And it’s not going anywhere. It has to be addressed- when will it be time?
Thank you for reading my thoughts on mental health in the education system. Feel free to add your two cents.
…BRD…
