Unveiling A New Portion...

Here's the next portion to the book I'm writing. If you missed the first few pages, you can read them here., or you can check in there if you need to jog your memory. The paragraph below picks up right where the last one left off. Again, your opinions/criticisms/questions are gladly welcomed...

           I had to tell someone, although I was humiliated, and I felt as though I would be judged. On the way to a bonfire, I decided to disclose the information to an individual I considered one of my friends. I simply spewed something out like “I think I have depression.”

            I don’t remember the direction the conversation took, but his response was something like “That stinks man, I’m sorry to hear that. Thanks for telling me.” When we arrived at the bonfire, the conversation was light and so was the breeze that decorated the air. It was the perfect evening. I forgot about my concern with having depression and enjoyed a fun evening.

            We went star tripping. It was my first time. I don’t know that I’ll ever forget the sounds of the laughter or the feeling of laying beside close friends afterward and gazing into the dark sky. I won’t ever forget it because it was one of the last nights I would have as a “normal” individual.

            I awoke the next morning around 6:30 AM to be ready to greet the author I was hosting for the day- Patricia Polacco. I knew very little about her, I had read one or two of her books, but I had heard nothing but good things. I’ll never forget how welcome and instantly encouraged I felt being in her presence.

            I sat next to her as she autographed books for fans, while in between we conversed and got to know each other. I knew that even after a brief period of time, I had made a new friend. I escorted Patricia to the location where she would speak. On the way we continued our conversation and I became even more eager to hear this woman speak.

            Within only a few minutes of her presentation, I was hooked, and it didn’t take long before I was in tears. Patricia made me realize that I had chosen the correct vocation- to be a teacher. As she told stories of teachers who had made a difference in her life, and described the power teachers have to impact the lives of their students, the tears continued to stream down my face.

            There are so many details I remember in the days preceding my life-changing event. One of them is the feeling of empowerment that Patricia lightened up within me. She told so many stories of what she had overcome, and it was encouraging to me. Whenever I am feeling especially down, I still cling to some of the things she said.

            That evening was amazing. I got to hear Patricia speak again, and hear Carmen Agra Deedy, another of my favorite authors speak. I laughed so hard. I still sing one of her songs regularly. It’s another one of those memories I still have of that weekend.

           

            The next morning is quite a blur. But it was a morning that would change my life forever- October 10, 2011.

            I was attending the 11:00 church service across the street from campus. I remember the hymn that was playing- “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty.” It was around the second verse that I lost consciousness. My legs felt like jell-o and begin wobbling. My knees could no longer hold up and I fell backward onto the pew. 

            “Dylan, do you need to leave?” my friend whispered. “Uh huh.” I muttered.  I knew something was wrong. She and her boyfriend holstered me up on their arms and carried me out of church. Many congregation members looked on with a deep concern in their eyes. Since we were sitting so close to the front of the church, many people had seen me black out and go down.

            They tried to carry my limp body out of church and across campus. I am not sure that anyone really knew what to do with me.  By the time I had made it a few yards out of the church and onto campus, other friends had noticed I was having difficulty and inquired about my condition. Part of me knew it had something to do with my mental health, but I wasn’t about to let on to anyone that I had anything wrong with me. I just told everyone that I was having trouble walking.

            As we progressed further, with the campus center our aim, I remember blacking out totally and my back hitting the cement. I don’t know how, because my memory is so vague, but the next thing I remember is waking up in the lobby of the campus center with a gnarled apple in one hand and cup of iceless water in the other, obviously snagged from the cafeteria downstairs.

            Though I don’t remember exactly what happened, I was told that I was conscious and talking as they picked me up off of the sidewalk and brought me to the campus center. I was being drilled with questions from friends who were trying their hardest to help me. I reassured everyone was fine; no trip to the hospital was necessary, and I was certain that once I deposited some food into my stomach, I would feel better. I insisted we head down to eat lunch.

            I remember feeling everyone’s eyes glued on me as I was holstered into the cafeteria. It’s not every day that a fellow student is practically carried to a table. Even more individuals came up and asked what was wrong. I felt a strong sense of discomfort and annoyance, because I didn’t have an answer to give anyone. I just said I had fainted and wasn’t feeling up to walking on my own. I knew more was wrong, but how did I begin to describe it to someone?

            I should probably explain what I was feeling- or rather, what I wasn’t feeling. There seemed to be a major disconnect between my feet and my mind. My mind was forcefully bellowing “MOVE!!!” to my feet, and my feet were not obeying the command. No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did, the feet would just scoot along. It was impossible to pick up my legs, and every movement was harder than the one before. I was scared. It felt like I was partially paralyzed.

            The trek from the campus center up the hill and into my room was long and difficult. As I had hoped, food was not the solution to the problem. I knew something was seriously wrong, but how was I supposed to tell anyone? It’s not like people pass out on a regular basis and then can’t walk. It was such an unusual problem that I was afraid to let on I had other suspicions.

            I felt bad for “ruining” everyone’s morning as I kept saying. I apologized an enormous amount of times for working everyone up and wasting their time. Being the good friends they were, I was corrected and told that I hadn’t ruined anyone’s morning and everyone was happy to help.

            I couldn’t help but wonder, “How long are they going to be willing to help?” I dismissed the idea, because I was certain this problem would be but a memory tomorrow and everyone would be able to resume the normalcy of their day to day routines. I kept reminding myself that I would see a counselor tomorrow, hoping she would provide answers and tell me this is a reaction to a mental problem I have.

            My friends insisted that they spend the afternoon at my side. I am sure they did it out of fear. I wasn’t comfortable staying alone; and they weren’t comfortable letting me stay alone. There were about five of us who crammed onto my futon, kicked back, and popped in a few discs of Seinfeld reruns. It was enough to pass the long hours of the Sunday afternoon. As the time passed, more and more friends found their way into my room and we all decided we would head back over to the church for a BBQ they were hosting for college students.