Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. 

I vaguely remember the days where I was naive to the harsh reality of growing up, sheltered from the toxicity of social media and societal standards, which have since gradually torn apart my self-esteem, piece by piece. Scroll through my camera roll, back a couple of years, and the smiles on my friends’ and my faces were genuine, our laughter pure. Where had it all gone wrong? Somewhere along the way, our fantastical notions about high school and our teenage years were disillusioned, the eager and impassioned flame within us crushed underneath the overwhelming burden of expectations to meet. The subtle sparkle in our eyes faded along with our innocence, leaving us unprotected in a world of chaos and hopelessness.

I’ve gone through my fair share of struggles, particularly throughout the past year, what with the raging pandemic and my mental health and self-esteem plummeting through the floor. Yet, I have never forgotten the one day that truly opened my eyes to the truth: high school would be nowhere close to “the best four years of your life” that adults had constantly gushed on and on about. In fact, by the beginning of freshman year, it seemed as if the years ahead of us would prove to be more exhausting and strenuous than I could have ever imagined. Now, a semester into my sophomore year, I still stand by that statement.

It all goes back to one Saturday morning, a day which wound up altering my entire perception of the people and the world around me. Barely awake, my eyes tired from having stayed up the night before, I was in no way prepared to handle the panic and sobs that ensued less than an hour later, when I received a text from my closest friend of over five years. I want to die. Behind these four words was a thirteen-year-old girl in pain, suffering from hurting that seemed like it would never go away. My first reaction was shock. She was the life of the party, the one who caught everyone’s attention––a natural-born leader: charming, vivacious, with an infectious smile and a spirit of passion. How could someone who appeared so unafraid and confident be struggling so much on the inside? How could I have been so oblivious to her pain? If there is anything I’ve learned from that day, it would be that us teens have mastered the art of lying and concealing our emotions. 

Once I began to process what was happening, the worry and panic set in. Despite frantically typing a constant stream of texts of what I hoped would be consoling messages, I felt utterly useless, wanting desperately to reach out to her and hold her hand, but stuck in my room. My mind drowning underneath my sobs and the fear overflowing inside me, I could barely hear myself, let alone know how to handle this situation. A deafening alarm rang throughout my brain, relentlessly warning me of the worst-case scenario. No matter how much I tried to convince myself she was safe, during the minutes that she wasn’t responding to me, the alarm sounded louder and louder. 

I had never been so utterly terrified of losing someone until that morning. The following months were not any easier, but she told me later how much I had helped her endure the pain. Thankfully, she is still here today, but the dread of losing any one of my friends had already made its way into my heart, sticking its roots there. I tried my hardest to become the friend that anyone could confide in, this fear still lingering in the back of my head. By the end of freshman year, I realized just how quickly young souls could turn old after being exposed to the endless amount of torment that came from misunderstanding parents and heartache.

I often reminisce about those “good old days,” the time before I understood the grim reality of suicidality and mental health issues–before I myself began to feel the consequences of the overwhelming stress and pressure on my mind and self-esteem. Sometimes, I find myself missing the old me, ignorant and blindly optimistic, who saw the world with hope in her eyes, but at the same time, I wouldn’t want to go back. Ignorance may be bliss, but bliss is rarely reality.