My transition from childhood innocence to the harsh reality of the
world began July 20, 2004. The date changed my life in a way I could
never have imagined. My Aunt Julie died that day. She committed suicide.
I was only 8 years-old. An 8-year-old can hardly comprehend death, let
alone suicide. I was confused. I felt pain and hurt. Everything seemed
out of control. My family had always felt safe, now it felt chaotic,
random, uncontrolled. Looking back now, I see how that dark July day, a
day so final, marked my beginning.
For the next
several years, memories of my aunt periodically came up in solemn
conversations among family members. As the fifth anniversary of her
death passed, I began to ponder how my life would be different if she
had lived. The more I thought, the more sorrow I felt. I began to slip
into a state of renewed grief. Was I slipping into depression?
Fortunately, I realized grief was not going to make my situation better.
It was in that moment a passion began to stir within me, and I became
determined to make a difference.
One year ago, the beginning of my
junior year, I realized my calling was to educate my community about
depression, the same illness that took my aunt's life. Leading a group
of my peers, I managed the planning of a convocation to be conducted at
three Knox County high schools, including my own. I had never been
involved in or organized such a large social justice project.
Surprisingly, however, I didn't have one worry. Throughout the entire
project, I knew my Aunt Julie's love from above would be supporting me. I
was impassioned and committed to taking depression down. I couldn't
bear the thought of someone suffering the way my family had.
The
resulting project was named Down with Depression. It encompassed 50
hours of planning and required fundraising in excess of $2,000. My
passion to lead and educate, the stirring I had felt, became a force. I
knew Down with Depression would be a successful and worthwhile endeavor.
On March 9, 2013, that force guided me onto the stage and into
the spotlight of my county's 1,800 students. I first addressed the ways
in which students and family members could detect depression and perhaps
prevent a loved one's suicide. Afterwards, I told the story of my Aunt
Julie. A hush fell over the crowd. The reaction triggered feelings in me
I'd forgotten I had. That old grief began creeping into my throat.
Although emotion tried to overtake me, I continued speaking. I continued
as if my life depended on it. I had to get the message out. According
to statistics, I knew one or more of my audience members might be
struggling with depression or know someone who was. I had to make them
understand. I had to persuade at least one person attending that
suicide was not the answer. If at least one person heard my message, I
had done my job.
At each auditorium, as I finished speaking, the
crowd would erupt into applause. I knew I had done the right thing and
that I had made my Aunt Julie proud. But more importantly, during the
final convocation, I searched the crowd for two familiar faces. The most
defining moment was spotting my mother and father in the back standing
and applauding, tears streaming down their cheeks. In that moment, I
knew I had become the young man I'd always dreamt of being. My journey
was predestined, the one that began the day my aunt died. Finally, I
knew I could look to the heavens and say, "Aunt Julie, I'm sorry I was
too late for you, but with your love I will continue to fight. I will
make sure depression is taken down!"
Source:- http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tanner-snider/teens-and-depression_b_4163298.html
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