STOP HIDING by Elayna

STOP HIDING by Elayna - July 2025 Scholarship Essay

Staring at the young girl picking at flowers on her own, dark frizzy curls falling aimlessly on either side of her head, a single tear takes its course, dripping from my eye down my chin, meshing with the dew as it lands in the grass. Her sleeves fell loosely to her hands, makeshift thumb holes ripped in the ends, hiding every inch of skin. The sun beamed as sweat beaded on her forehead, slowly tangling itself in her hair. Anxiety emitted from her body, a familiar scent I once knew all too well. X-rays replaced my eyes, and I suddenly could see right through the mask she was wearing, right through the fabric draped over her arms. A combination lock has begun rusting at the door to her mind, a combination she has long forgotten, trapping those scary thoughts within, telling no one of the pain she was feeling. I try to scream, begging her to speak up, pleading with her to ask for help, but my words fall on deaf ears. I want to tell her that help is not scary, that she can’t do this by herself, but in the midst of her suffering, she simply won’t let me in.

As two worlds begin to collide, the present intertwining with the past, my hand finds itself resting on her shoulder. I have been given this rare opportunity, an opportunity to share one piece of advice with my past self. “Stop hiding”, I whisper in her ear. Merely two words that anyone else may brush over, but she knows exactly what I mean. She knows that she intentionally forgot the combination to the lock living on the door to her mind, believing no one would need to sand the rust off the lock and read within the gyri and sulci of her brain. Hiding her thoughts meant she was safe from what could be if the anguish was discovered, all while causing agony two-fold. Gloom has begun surging through my veins as I remind myself that she is me.

That fateful evening in early 2018, wrapping up my 8th grade year, I set forth to confront my mother; I finally was going to admit my dirty secret: self-injurious behavior. As my words floated into her ears, the blood began to leave her face, unable to process my utterance. After confiscating the devices that I’d grown addicted to, I was forced to tell my father, who, expectedly, reacted nearly the same. Telling my older sister, someone with severe anxiety, truly convinced me I had to hide the mess that was my mind. Watching as she spiraled into a panic attack, gasping for air as tears created puddles beneath her feet, I couldn’t hold back the sobs escaping my throat, screaming how sorry I was as if she were miles away. My mother interrupted my cries demanding that I "stop playing the victim, you did this to yourself”. My mother is not a bad person by any means; I loved her and still love her dearly - but in that very moment it felt like she ripped away every ounce of trust I had. On this day, I burned the lock combination and decided I’d never let my thoughts run rampant again.

Now, 2025, at over 2 ½ years clean, I long to grab my past self and shake some sense into her fragile body, piercing into her broken mind. Hiding dangerous thoughts does not lead to a better future. At the ripe age of 13/14, if my future self came to tell me I needed to stop hiding, I can’t say whether I would have listened or not. I’ve always been quite stubborn, and I firmly believed I was doing what was right for me; I believed I was sheltering myself, that I was protecting myself from something bad. The person I am now wishes I could give this advice to my past self to help her get better quicker, to not struggle with this issue for 5 years, to feel supported and okay again. This tidbit of advice is one I believe everyone can learn from. At some point in our lives, we all hide things about ourselves that would be best off shared with at least someone, but we choose not to. There is someone out there, someone who will listen, care, and support. Surely it is hard to find them at times, but I promise present you, past you, and past me that no matter what it may be, please, STOP HIDING.