Worst Case Scenario

How much pressure does it take to burst this bubble?

We live so quiet in a public space.

We walk with care and talk with trepidation,

It is more important to appear calm than to actually

Fix the problems we live with on the inside.

We tell ourselves that it will never be us:

The pain, the tears, the tragedies that we read about in The  New York Times.

It doesn't matter, it can be ignored,

The mental illnesses that shadow our friends and family,

Because they aren't us.

But how much pressure does it take to become the "worst case scenario?"

My peers are moribund, lying silent in the ground, and we had no idea

That they were suffering, burning in malignant flames

Scorching their hearts piece by piece, until there was nothing left,

But the never ending silence of a child's death.

I miss him, the boy who's death called for an uproar.

Finally, we began to speak up.

We began to hear the stories that echoed in hidden thoughts,

That dwelled in the crevices of our nightmares.

We were plagued, deemed the "worst case scenario."

Did a boy have to die for mental illness to be taken seriously?

For people to finally say that asking for help is gaining strength

And speaking one's mind will bring respect.

To notice that depression is a deadly disease,

Just as valid and as dangerous as a cancer.

It grows unnoticed until people are gone,

Until four people in my community had left our world.

Then, we could see the grief striking in the tired eyes of my classmates.

Then, we could hear the cries for help enter our hesitant brains,

Ticking away with the hope for a brighter future, created in memory of those we lost.