"How's everything going?"
they ask, smiling.
I am proud to tell them, "It's going GREAT!"
I pause, continue.
"I have good grades this year,
and tons of friends.
I love all my classes,
though sometimes the teachers frustrate me.
I love choir, I sing better now,
and philosophy has a great teacher.
Drama's okay, too many freshman,
but I don't want to go to a more advanced class
because I love it being easy.
Oh yeah - I hardly ever feel depressed anymore,
and my anxiety is almost gone."
They congratulate me,
and I feel an unusual sense of love and belonging.
"Good" means better.
It means "better than before".
My depression is handled,
and sometimes I can even feel
love from others.
But still, I realize -
it is not the same
as elementary school happiness.
Last year I lost a best friend.
This year I cannot make the connections I made
with seniors I lost contact with,
it's probably my fault,
slightly theirs (but not much).
Last year classes were hard.
This year they are easy,
so I guess that much is accurate.
Last year I ran out after someone and followed them,
making sure they were okay.
This year marks 6 years of chances for someone else to do the same,
and it hasn't happened yet.
Last year I wanted to kill myself.
This year I've only wanted to escape, and certainly less times than
I have ever thought of it before.
This year is better.
And so I call it "good".