Soft as a Rock Anonymous

It was ironic that my dad always called me “Rock,” because a year ago I felt like a piece of clay. I remember the nights I spent in my room, crying in the silence, mulling over the value of my life. It was only months after my lifelong friend committed suicide, and it wore on me every day from then on. I remember the overwhelming anxiety I created for myself by requiring absolute perfection in every activity – school, soccer, even social stature. I had created an impossible situation for myself during a time in my life in which I felt susceptible to every outside force. I did not want to do anything. I felt the unbearable burden of depression upon my shoulders and I just wanted to be set loose. One September night, I broke down. I sacrificed my reputation as a self sufficient “Rock” and confessed my feelings to my mother. Although at the time I felt like I had lost a battle, I now realize the strength and importance in such a decision.

For the first time in my sixteen years, I entrusted my life to other people. I began regularly talking to my parents about my feelings instead of confining them within myself. I even agreed to see a psychiatrist, despite my past belief that any person has the power to control his or her thoughts...