that about 60% of adolescents with depressive episodes don’t receive treatment, there would have been a slight trace of warmth in their eyes. I wished I had control of the words that came out of their mouth; to twist them to become commiserating. Obviously, I didn’t have the superpowers to do that, so their eyes remained a dark, cold blue, and her words continued to feel like hot daggers puncturing my skin. I exited her classroom with a feeling of desolation and embarrassment but relieved I would soon be in the comfort of my home as the school day had ended. The beauty of nature and the tranquility of journaling were my coping mechanisms, so when I arrived at my house, I grabbed a cup of warm, clove spiced tea and my brown paperback journal and went outside. I began to fill the pages with ink as I felt a subtle heat from the sun, and heard broken leaves softly abandon their branches and fall onto the cold grass. I watched the mailman make his way around my street delivering his standard white envelopes, and I saw the two inseparable black and gray cats that always bathed in the sun whenever the weather was warm. Everyone around me seemed to go about their days normally, even though, in my head, it felt as if the world was moving aimlessly and mundanely. As I drank the last of my tea and began to shut my journal, a yellow-rumped warbler, a brown bird with patches of bright yellow feathers, landed a few feet from me. She stood elegantly in a silent serenity. There wasn’t anything fascinating about the bird, but she was what I needed at that moment. When she noticed I was there, she glanced at me with a beautiful kindness-a wordless acknowledgment to my struggle. In that brief, silent exchange, I understood the importance of not always being in control. I wasn’t in control of the bird’s decision to land next to me, yet she did, and I was glad I experienced that moment with her. Her free-spiritedness made me aware that I was forcing myself to carry a hatred for my teacher when all I wanted was to forget the situation. I longed to feel the same peacefulness the bird was emanating. So, emulating the bird, I allowed myself to choose how I wanted to feel, liberated of my excessive control. And as the yellow-rumped warbler lifted its gray, black-streaked wings to fly away, just as the loud anger occupying my body lifted, I not only forgave my teacher but also myself.
88
