[stylist] Writers and depression

[Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter]

This doesn't directly relate to Helen's prompt, but as I lack time right
now, I will share two exerps from an essay published last year in a
publication titled 13th Floor. It addresses depression, bullying and
suicide. The piece in its entirety is available in 13th Floor on Kindel or
the Kindel app.

The bell rang for recess, and Mrs. Petat's second-grade class came to
attention. Each child sat still, but our pent-up energy raced around our
features. A hushed frenzy waiting to explode.
We rushed in lines of order as our teacher released the class. The barrel of
balls and jump ropes emptied in a succinct fashion. Reaching the door to the
playground, our line of whispered buzzing erupted into shouts and giggles as
we stormed the yard.
Sarah tossed me the end of a long red jump rope, and we started the ancient
swing known to children world-round.
Laurie jumped in first as the chant began. Soon I rolled into a well-oiled
maneuver. The motion of the swing remained steady while Laurie and I jumped
in unison.
I jumped in and out never skipping a beat. We laughed and shouted as each
girl took her turn, and our chant mingled through the noisy playground.
Laurie and Chandra replaced Sarah and I as we kept the motion, never
skipping a beat. Sarah and I danced to the back of the line, catching our
breath through bursts of giggles.
The rhythm of the chant reverberated through my body, tingling. My long
ponytail whipped around my body as I spun on my heel, ready to enter the
arching rope spinning round and round.
Giddiness prickled my skin as an effortless leap slid my skinny body into
the winding motion of the game. I smiled, but something had changed. The
chant was different.
"Di, di, di, Bridgit is diabetic-she is gonna' die-die-die."
I glanced at Laurie and Chandra still whipping the rope around. Their faces
concentrated on the task at hand, but their mouths wiggled with escaped
laughter through the chant.
"Di, di, di, Bridgit is diabetic-she is gonna' die-die-die."
My feet scratched against the cement jumping backwards out of the motion.
Facing the line of jumpers, their expressions seemed mocking. The chant
halted as kids around the playground pointed. A laugh thundered through the
yard. Tears nipped my eyes.
A group of boys corralled nearby, snickered. "The DIE-abetic's gonna' cry."
My mouth opened, but words seemed like the enemy at the moment. Holding my
breath, trying not to cry, my feet trudged to the edge of the playground.
Leaning against the red brick of the school, my body took on the stillness
of the stone pricking my back.
A stony isolation left me at the edge, unsure how to find my way back.

Second exerp:

Life it seems, will fade away
Drifting further every day
Getting lost within myself
Nothing matters, no one else
I have lost the will to live
Simply nothing more to give
There is nothing more for me
I need the end to set me free

Curled up in a corner on my bed, I sobbed, my head resting on my knees.
Screams hovered in my throat. No one to talk to, to cleanse the poison from
my soul.
Swollen eyes searched my room for any remnant of hope. I wanted something to
tie me to this world, an anchor that made me one of them.
Happiness seemed easy for some. Inclusion was my goal, to be normal. Too
much weighed me down; these jagged thoughts pierced me to the ground, unable
to join the world.
Cruel words piled up like dirt.  Slut, whore, tramp-- it did not matter that
I was a virgin; the gospel of rumors is truth.
Pink-handled scissors whispered tantalizing possibilities. Suffocating,
unable to move, death was inviting. Escaping this enclosure was the relief I
sought. 

Consumed by emptiness, you sought a final solitude. Unaware of the future,
you saw only today. Unable to dry the flow of tears, you stopped the flow of
blood. Your enemy's words were endless, but you deafened the sound with a
blow.