By Clarice S. Yau, AP Lit Student
To be invisible is a feeling of the loneliest freedom. It’s throwing back the chains and escaping a cell to find beautiful barrenness. It’s a terrifying sort of liberty in which no one can see or feel or know you.
I’ve spent a fair amount of my life invisible, in the sense that no one knows what really goes on in my life. This type of invisibility is like suffocating in a glass prison, afraid to break free, but afraid to do nothing. It’s like being hunted by assassins in broad daylight and pounding on empty windows in a desperate plea for help.
When a close family member died, I became a shell of myself. But no one could see, and I was deathly afraid of asking for help because it required courage I knew I didn’t have. I felt like everyone could see that I was slowly going insane inside my mental prison, but few saw past my sunny facade.
It’s so easy to say that the solution was talk it out with someone, but it’s another thing to force the words out. I never really learned to talk about it without cracking or breaking until recently. The cop-out solution for me was to hold it all in and let time run its course, which works, but generates bitterness and destroys who I am in the process.
This feeling has become a good friend to me. We sit in companionable silence and contemplate our loneliness together.
I’ve learned to talk about my problems to people, no matter how much I feel like a burden. It’s difficult, but freeing. It’s not always enough to keep my friend invisibility from keeping me company, but invisibility is no longer a prison to me.
is bound up
for we can
- Bishop Desmond Tutu
Contributors to the blog are students in Ms. Washington's classes: Seniors in Advance Placement Literature and 9th grade ELA.