The Sun Switches Its Meaning

If you could give one piece of advice to readers, what would it be? 

"There will never be a "sick enough." It is never too early to heal." — Talia Toon

---

Through the open window sill to my left, the sunlight warmed my frigid skin. I turned to look out a window of the place that was forced to be my home and wondered how I got there.The beeps of a hospital monitor sounded off behind me, but they became faint whispers in the background of my mind. The thoughts that were racing back and forth were louder than any

physical thing going on around me. I was weak but still willing to fight against the inevitable. I was in denial about what everyone around me was telling me.

It was then that I realized I had to recover, despite my lack of wanting to recover.

In the months prior, I continuously felt overlooked. I never believed the stories of hospitalization I would read in fear would become me. I thought I had everything under control, but in truth, I was the one being controlled.

Day by day that went by, I lay in a bed that wasn’t my own. Looking for comfort anywhere I could find it now that my one outlet had been taken away. People reassured me that everything would be alright. They told me that this path was the only option I had to live. But no one told me how to accept the fact that I had been pushed onto this path rather than choosing it. No one told me how to be okay with everything I’d known since I was 14, being ripped from my grasp.

I came in with tunnel vision. “Get through this, and I can go back to the way things were before.” I’d tell myself this through every weigh-in and exam. I’d tell myself this as doctors congratulated me on how strong I was. I’d tell myself this through every hospital meal I had to eat to gain my freedom.

But it wasn’t until I saw the hurt that fell upon my parents’ faces that it all began to sink in. Until I saw the other people who walked through this place. Until the worry of the doctors and nurses treating me became apparent.

Through tears, I fought with what I thought was myself. But in reality, it was the disorder convincing me that this is what I needed for control. It was the disorder convincing me that choosing not to recover would be me taking that control. I slowly realized that none of it was true. Instead, I was being controlled. I was being led down the road that kept getting narrower. A road that would eventually cease to be travelable.

As I was allowed to pack up my things and finally join with the rest of the world, something new was born within me.

For months, I went through the motions. I faced every up and down, high and low, tear and triumph. I felt that the world was moving on without me as I still struggled to heal fully. But through my struggles, I was able to recognize the struggles of the people around me. Through what people my age are posting and through what people I know would say in passing. I saw through their mask because it was one that I was so familiar with. Through the months of pain and perseverance, something new had fallen over me. I realized that a new purpose had been

born in me.

I had to help the people around me. I had to help them know that they were more than what they were struggling with. I had to help them realize they didn’t have to be at their wits' end to seek help.

It started in little ways. Talking to people who looked lonely. Giving people gentle reminders that they weren’t alone. Posting quotes on my Instagram. Plugging mental health reminders into my extracurricular activities. But slowly, it grew into me wanting to reach more people than those in my circle. It became telling my stories to others. But I still felt compelled to

do more. I started an organization called We Have Problems 2 to allow people my age in the community to connect with others who feel alone and unheard. Branching out into different communities of differing populations, making sure they know they don’t have to leap across valleys and climb mountains to get the help they need.

Now, when I feel the sun hit my skin, I don’t feel fear. Instead, I feel hope.