Note from editor: This short story on depression and anxiety was a part of an IGCSE Global Perspectives Group Project. A subject in Grades 9 and 10 that requires learners to undertake a group project that delves into a global, national or local issue, research a question pertinent to it and develop a solution that can contribute to its awareness or solution. The graduated Grade 10 GP learners, Ada Ashish, Jahnavi Karthik, Khanak Kumar, Rahul Maru and Saakshi Bartakke, took up to study the extent and cause of rising mental health issues among adolescents. Their contribution was to raise awareness among stakeholders, parents, teachers and society and adolescents so that they know that they are not alone and can seek help.
This is the first chapter of a longer story that explores the complexities of a rising but little-discussed topic. It presents diverse perspectives and multiple points of view. The story was recently published in a blog, and it is one that will stay with you long after you finish reading it. We highly recommend that you read the full story here.
A Teen’s Perspective :
CHAPTER 1: Black Holes
The familiar feeling snakes its way upward yet again. After being on edge for so long, it seems my very soul has started cascading into the depths of this black hole. Empty dizziness combined with the lack of energy to move a single muscle- to even breathe! I’m scared. I close my eyes to shut out the assault of sheer panic, but of course, it doesn’t work. There’s this sense of foreboding that something will hurt me- I will hurt me. I don't know what to do! I’m unable to shake off this feeling of dread. The feeling that I need to be rescued… rescued from none other than myself.
I aimlessly pet Floofesh
The cat, sitting next to me like a snow poff. But even that doesn’t help anymore. There’s only one way out. I reach for the desk drawer. It houses my only escape: A knife, which I sharpened out of a steel ruler. The numbers are still visible, like a cruel countdown of sorts. I meticulously wipe the (non-existent) dust off the cold surface. The blade glints in the lamplight, like the wily smile of a politician, offering wonderful promises of escape and liberation. My most beautiful creation, a piece of art in its own right. Honed down to a razor-thin edge.
My skin aches to embrace the searing comfort of the steel
The blade converges with my thin wrist, staining it a cataclysmic crimson. It feels like sharp acid. Toxic but invigorating. I gasp for breath at the cold shock of the steel, but I can feel the turbulence in my mind receding, beaten back by the sharp, immediate pain in my forearm. My heart beats louder, faster. I hear it echoing off the walls. DHUB DHUB DHUB DHUB… I keep going, drawing a clean line in my red ink. I feel my nerves screaming, my primal instinct begging for an end. But the allure of the metal is too strong. I use all my energy fighting off the sweet siren song of death. So close… just move the knife a little deeper, and it’ll be over.
Forever.