089. Chocolate Kisses

tldr: and other acts of kindness, or lack thereof

The memories I have from before fourth grade come to me in snapshots and hard pills to swallow. Besides my times tables, I hardly remember much.

I remember a family friend buying me a tall Starbucks hot chocolate on a misty day while she was babysitting me. She asked them to put chocolate drizzle on top, and ever since I can’t have my hot chocolate without it. Then, she took me back to her apartment and taught me how to fold socks. I felt weirdly empowered by my ability to perform such a menial task.

I remember my second grade teacher writing up the daily addition and multiplication problems on the Smartboard at the front of the class. Then, she’d walk to the back of the classroom where I was seated, and give me a few more to work on; problems with double digits, delicately and deliberately chosen for me to solve. After about five to ten minutes, she’d call upon students to go up to the board and show their work. This daily ritual was one of the few instances in which I wouldn’t raise my hand; almost to preserve the sanctity of the moment in a way I still don’t quite understand. But on occassion, she would still call on me to go to the board. And I would feel elated.

I remember my third grade teacher giving out Jolly Ranchers to kids when they got an answer right or when they’d do some random helpful task. As a little teacher’s pet, I remember always volunteering to answer a question, or try to help out; but I always declined the candy. I disliked how the bright cherry flavor would make my teeth feel sticky, and hated how the taste lingered even after trying to wash it down with water. After a while, the teacher caught onto this, and she began to keep a small stash of chocolate Hershey’s Kisses:tm: tucked away in the freezer of her minifridge just for me. To this day, I keep my own stockpile of Kisses as a rare delectable act of kindness to myself.

When my depression gets at its worst, I often ask myself if I remember when I remember actually being happy, and my mind goes back to these memories. And for a moment, I feel the joy of these memories wash over me; followed by the crashing followup question: what about since then?

And I know– I know that I have felt happy at some points past the third grade. It’s just. It’s hard to remember times where the feeling of happiness was so simple.

The natural next question I guess would be, “well what changed in fourth grade”, and I know what the fucking answer is. I hate what the fucking answer is.

I started going to a “gifted school” where people were supposed to be like me, but nobody liked me and I could never shake that feeling.

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I remember spending most of my days and recesses in the library. I’d scan in checked out books, scan out books being checked out. One day, in fifth grade, I had gotten in trouble somehow. That day, I wasn’t allowed to go to recess, so I asked my teacher if I could go to the library instead. And it would’ve been one thing had the teacher just said no, but she decided to go beyond that. She made some snide remark about how I spent too much time in the library, and said I should learn to actually make some friends.

I remember only going to one party between fourth and sixth grade. I should rephrase: I remember only being invited to one party between fourth and sixth grade. It was a party for our “graduating” class and everyone was invited. At the end of that party, I remember looking around at the attendees and wondering “how many people here actually know me?” But I shook that thought, because of course they knew me. Why wouldn’t they? Six years later, I walked into the SAT subject testing room, and to my shock, I recognized nearly half of the people there as people who were at that party. During the breaks, I tried catching up with some of them. No one remembered me.

But most of all, I remember not remembering much. Most of my life between fourth grade and tenth grade just feels like static. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.

Coming to MIT… I don’t know, I thought some of this static would shake off. I don’t know why it hasn’t.

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I think I’ve been depressed for a long time.