A Shard of Glass by Sophia

A Shard of Glass by Sophia - September 2022 Scholarship Essay

What would I say to a younger version of me? Would I tell them that every book has an ending? What about teaching myself the importance of sleep before they grow into my awful insomnia? Maybe I would tell them that no matter how broken it becomes, a shard of glass is always beautiful.
Actually, I think it would have to be the last one. For years now people have told me that calling myself broken is depressing. Usually my answer would be some quip about how I have depression so it should be; but I always felt that my depression, anxiety, and overthinking mind are a large part of who I am. Sure it would be nice to get through a week without panic attacks or trouble leaving my bed yet I wouldn’t give up my empathy and imagination just so life could be a little easier. I wouldn’t want to be whole if being broken is what drives my writing and inspires my dance. Being broken has always made me better at helping those around me.
The reality is, I have been broken since I was very young. Talking to new people terrified me. If I did talk to them it would be with sped up words as loud as I could manage. Being in a room with kids my own age left me disoriented and feeling out of place, I could never seem to understand what they were laughing about. I was just too young to realize that this was just me, my brain doesn’t produce enough dopamine and serotonin, it is unbalanced and my thoughts can either go a mile a minute or not at all.
It did not help that I was smart, anytime I tried to tell someone how I felt wrong or out of place they would begin telling me I was such an intelligent little kid. Even a child therapist decided nothing could be wrong with me because I could hold a conversation. I began to feel like everything about me that felt wrong was supposed to be hidden, “it’s your problem not theirs so don’t share it”. For parents with fast talking kid, they needed to keep me from oversharing or making people uncomfortable. Their rule was, if it wasn’t someone else’s problem why would they need to hear about it? I took this as, “if you have a problem keep it to yourself”. Something I prioritize even today.
When I finally opened up and got a diagnosis, it felt a little too late. Telling people what is wrong feels like a problem in itself, being honest about how I am feeling or what I am thinking makes me guilty and ashamed. Even if after all these years I have decided that being broken isn’t my disability but my secret weapon, it doesn’t change the trauma all those years left behind. So if I ever get the chance to talk to a younger version of myself, I think I want them to know that being broken is beautiful and important. Wanting help and validation is normal, and above all else, never ignore pain in yourself or others.
So my younger self needs to know that no matter how broken a piece of glass becomes, it’s just one piece of a stained glass window waiting to be made. Never underestimate the power of being broken, never be afraid to say it out loud either.