Growing up, it's been drilled into our heads that whatever happens, tell a trusted adult. Is someone mean to you? Tell a trusted adult. Do you feel sad? Tell a trusted adult. Have to go to the bathroom? Tell a trusted adult. We watch videos in elementary school. Counselors, teachers, parents, all badgering us to tell them what's wrong, to get help, to trust them to make things right. But there are things that even a trusted adult can't make right, and as you sit, helpless and resigned, telling someone seems so superficial.
I felt this way all my life as I watched friends struggle with depression and stress, contemplating suicide. But what could I do? I tried to stay happy, have light-hearted conversations, but I realized it was bigger than me, bigger than a trusted adult. So I said nothing. I waited, uncomfortable and scared until I could wait no longer. We watched a video in literature, one of those state-mandated suicide, tell-someone videos that I usually don't pay attention to. But that day I broke down. When they passed out the little slips of paper asking if I or someone else was at risk for suicide, I checked "yes".
I was called down to the counseling office, already crying, thirty pairs of eyes following me out the door. As a strange man asked me about my friends and their feelings, I felt calm. I had done my part. I told someone. I did the right thing. I did the right thing.
It got harder and harder to believe as my friend was sent home, as social workers came to his house and questioned his family, as he went to the hospital to be cleared for school. He wasn't angry with me, but I could tell he thought it was a burden to his parents, to his sister, to him. I didn't know what to feel - I had done what I was supposed to do, but the problems didn't stop. The doctor recommended therapy, but he never went. He got listless again, tired all the time, distant, even cold. He stopped telling me how he felt, because what if I told again? Now, I watch as he spirals again, helpless and scared, waiting for him to text back, hysterical when I don't see him at school the next morning.
I am angry at the adults. After that day, no one checked up on him. Nobody made sure he was going to therapy, which he wasn't. Nobody checked to see if his parents were treating him better, if he felt happier, if he needed help. Nobody did anything besides give him a hug and call social services. I am angry, but I almost understand. Sometimes, things are bigger than us, bigger than an overworked school counselor can handle. But if the adults ever read this, I want them to know that we trust you because we're told to. Listen and act, before it's too late.
