Week 7: Simple Kindness

Ever since I was seven or eight I've been depressed. It didn't start out suicidal or extreme, and I was always a go-get'em type of kid; I didn't really even notice what was happening. I liked making people laugh, even though usually it was at me instead of with me. I loved my family, even though I had to watch my father verbally abuse my mother and my brother hit me over the back of my head randomly.

My family dysfunction didn't really bother me besides the odd moment of cathartic crying because I was used to it. As I grew up, I started to realize that things weren't okay - my mother and father got divorced right around the age of eight, and we moved out. I lived with my mom now and I started to grow up a little bit, but in the wrong way.

I didn't talk to people, I sat alone at lunch and I wore my hoodie so that I felt safe. My bad eating habits of binge eating became starving myself and refusing to eat lunch. My occasional bouts of sadness became an internal emptiness and lack of purpose. I still went through the motions, had a couple friends, got school done, went to family gatherings; but it wasn't the same as before. I would always eventually default to an absolutely empty state.

If you asked me if I had changed, I wouldn't have known. I didn't realize the slow creep of depression, and by the time I was in High School and sixteen years old I was starting to cut myself and was spiraling. My grades were failing. I couldn't find enjoyment with my family. I couldn't reach out because after all of this, I felt like it was too much. That it was my cross to bear, and I wanted to help others and bear theirs for them.

I know now that it was the wrong choice, but hindsight is funny like that. After nine (or ten?) years of my spiraling depression since before I was 10, I remember there was one person that really stuck to me.

In my High School (Romeo High, nice place if you don't mind the old building), there was a science teacher at the time named (I think, my memory is fuzzy with names) Mr. Nuttal. Mr. Nuttal was a larger fellow, but he was larger than life and loved to laugh and constantly tried to make the science and biology classes interesting. I'm pretty sure I wasn't doing great in his class either but that's not the point.

After all of my issues I remember I started to lose sleep, too - I would fall asleep in class a lot. Mr. Nuttal had a test one day, one that I was pretty sure I could skate through with relative ease; except I passed out on top of my test paper.

Most of the teachers I've encountered, by this point, weren't someone I would trust my feelings to. They just wanted to get through the day like everyone else and only a very tiny minority of them seemed to genuinely care about their students beyond knowing they were responsible for their salary. Mr. Nuttal was different, though.

Instead of being rude about it or trying to make an example out of what not to do, he gently shook my shoulder in the middle of the test and asked me something simple:

"Are you okay?"

It was different. Of course people have asked if I was okay before, but they were all the usual suspects; Family members, close friends, the occasional romantic partner. But this was different. Mr. Nuttal issued me off into a side room so I could complete the test and focus after my impromptu nap, and afterwards sat down with me and asked if everything was okay at home, and if I was feeling alright.

At the time I think I remember being a little dismissive, but I did thank him as best as I could. Depression has a weird way of twisting things unfortunately so, at the time, I thought it was just someone spewing pointless niceties. But now that I look back on it, I see that he cared. The reason this stuck with me is because he didn't need to care. He was the one that counted. The person who had no real stake in my emotional well-being - educational, sure, but emotional? No, teachers don't have to care about that. But he did, and unlike some other people, it was much more genuine.

I remember I talked to my Mom about it some time later. I actually remember during parent teacher conferences, my mom hugged him and cried, and thanked him for looking after me. I'd like to think I'd have done the same if I wasn't so screwed up at the time.

Eventually, I started to get help after coming out to my Mom about it. I got therapy, the usual run of some medicine - I'm better than I was, still struggling as I am. But I always remember him because of the simple act of kindness.

Mr. Nuttal, last I heard, went to teach grade schoolers. I think (and hope) he'll be good there; not necessarily because he's the best teacher in the world, but because I think he cares. He wants to make sure that his students are happy as well as educated. When the chips are down, that's what counts the most, I think.