This I believe


If I had to describe my depression, I would describe it as an empty feeling that nothing in this life matters. I have had depression since I was first became ill. I have a genetic condition, which at times, can be more than difficult to cope with. Just as I have learned to deal with my illness, I have learned to deal with the depression that accompanies it. I have realized: although sometimes, it feels like I am drowning in sadness, I can always choose to be happy.

In the fourth grade, I developed seizures. They were atypical and no doctor could figure out what was wrong with me. At one point, they thought I was faking and they admitted me into a mental hospital. My life was consumed by sadness. More than ever, I could not see a positive side to things. My naturally luminous light flickered off and I was consumed in darkness. In attempt to get a second opinion, my mom and I traveled to the Mayo clinic. My mentor met us there to help out with the situation, as having a daughter in a wheelchair wasn’t exactly an easy thing to manage.

I remember the feeling in my chest when the doctor said my seizures were “too strange to be real.” I wanted to leave, I wanted to fly away, I wanted to escape. Escape out of this wheelchair or maybe even out of this world. I wished that I had wings so I could fly someplace far away. Once we left the office, Amy was the only one not in tears. We were walking to the car when she parked my wheelchair by a bench and sat down. Like a child, I curled up against her and cried.

The doctor who was supposedly one of the smartest in the world, could not figure out what was wrong with me. All the hope for me ever getting better seemed to vanish, frustration, disappointment, so many emotions filled me. I was so close to giving up when Amy said something that made me fight: “I am so proud of you for being so strong.” In that moment, my tears of sadness turned into tears of happiness, tears of gratefulness, tears of relief, tears of hope that I would make it. Before Amy told me she was proud of me being strong, I felt like I had nothing, but now, I had something, I had her on my side.

At the end of that awful day, we went to the hotel pool and swam. I was laughing and smiling; so was my mom. It was a horrible day, but we all had smiles on our faces. Despite the darkness, God had proven, he would never leave me alone in this world.

That day, I was faced with a choice, I could let my disappointment become me, or I could choose happiness and become the optimism that surrounded me. Positivity is contagious and that day I Amy Read contaminated me.

I believe in a lot of things, but most of all, I believe that if we look, there is always something to be happy for. I believe you just have to put effort into finding that something.  I did not choose this life. I did not choose to have twenty surgeries.  I did not choose the frequently needed  doctors visits, the missed parties, the months spent in the hospital, the days I have to stay home from school because I am too sick to get out of bed. There are a lot of things I did not choose, but the one thing I can choose is and always will be; happiness.



Here is a picture of me, Mrs. Read and her husband Ron, at their wedding, in March of 2015.


This is an apple Mrs. Read saved when we went apple picking in 2010. This apple is 6 years old.



Article written by Molly Jones 



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