The hardest part for me was that you didn’t realize I was one of THOSE KIDS. You saw me as a good student who was capable of making good grades and following the rules and I was those things. You saw me as someone who could get along with others and who could communicate effectively with both my peers and adults and I could do those things. What you didn’t see was that I was not okay. I was not okay at all. You didn’t know that the way you saw me on the outside was not at all the way I felt on the inside. I felt like an outcast all too often. Anxious. Afraid. Alone.

If you had asked I would have told you about a picture I see in my head that represents high school. Picture high school as an island and everyone who comes onto the island is given an average size rock to hold. The rock represents the responsibilities and expectations put on a high school student. Most students stand on the island and have no problem holding the rock. They can hold it in one hand, throw it up in the air, and some can even break it into smaller parts to make it easier to carry. There is another group of students that are near the shore. Their rocks continuously get stuck in the sand and mud and they struggle to get the rock to move. They may be able to pick it up momentarily but keep dropping it and make no real progress. Another smaller group of students are in the water paddling with all their might to keep their rock above the water. They gasp for air and are in constant motion as they try not to drop their rock. And then there are the last few students in the group, that are holding their rock above the water, but are completely submerged. They don’t have the strength or will to do anything but hold the rock barely above the surface. This is the problem I encountered. This was me. I was drowning. I think that all anyone cares about is that the rock stays above the water. There is not enough attention to the effort and the struggle that it takes some of us to keep that rock from falling below the surface.

I was struggling. I am gay and was often labeled as the gay kid. For some reason when you are gay, everyone around you just assumes that is your problem and the cause of all your troubles. People tend to dwell on that. Being gay can be hard at times but it’s not a problem. It’s my life. It’s me. It’s who I am. My problem is that I am a teenager and being a teenager can be really hard. The expectations. The responsibilities. The relationships. The friendships. The unknown. All of it. I wish adults weren’t so quick to judge us. To label us. To think they can look at us and figure us out. To think what they see is who we are. There is so much more going on inside of us. A lot more.

I needed someone to see what was really going on with me. I needed someone to recognize just how much pain I was in. I was drowning. Too many adults wanted to tell me what I should do or what I needed. Just because you are older than me doesn’t mean that you know what is better or worse for me. I never asked for you to fix my problems. I just wanted you to help me figure it out on my own. I wanted you to lead me through my problems and struggles so I could find the solutions on my own. I really just wanted someone to listen and maybe not talk at all. I just needed and hoped you might see that even though I wasn’t asking and I wasn’t acting out, it didn’t mean that I didn’t need your help.

So if someone asked for my advice, I guess I would say to understand not every kid who struggles acts out or misbehaves. Not every kid who needs help will ask for it. Not every kid who smiles is happy. Some of the loneliest kids are surrounded by others. Maybe stop and get to know us. Maybe listen to us a little more. Maybe talk a little less. Maybe help us take chances. Maybe let us make our own mistakes. Just support us if we do. Maybe show us just how many options are out there. Maybe show us all the possibilities. A bigger picture. Maybe look below the surface. Look a little deeper. Maybe just take the time to talk to ALL KIDS because you never know who might actually be one of THOSE KIDS.

Story told by a 16 year individual and co-written with Candace Boehm. Art also contributed by the same individual.