People who live in colder climates have higher rates of depression. Strike 1.
People who get limited sunlight have higher rates of depression. Strike 2.
University students have higher rates of depression. Strike 3.
From March-June, university students - especially seniors - are under tremendous pressure and have higher rates of depression. Strike 4.
By the time you are seniors, one out of every four of you will consider suicide.
This is what I told my two classes today.
We did a lesson on health, but I give special attention to depression and suicide because they are crouching at the doors of so many.
At the end of both classes, I took a few minutes to talk to my students. The lesson ceased. It was quiet. No one was speaking but me. No one was distracted or disengaged. I was saying words that they've never heard a teacher say -- maybe even parents, for that matter.
I let my eyes fall on every one of them.
You are my students. In a way, you belong to me because I am now one of the people responsible for your well-being. I love you. I care about you. And no matter how bad it gets, you need to remember that you always have a choice, even if it feels like you don't. Choose life. Because if you choose death, you can never undo that. Go back to your dorms and talk with your dorm-mates about today's lesson. Come up with a plan on how to respond if one of you gets that call in the middle of the night saying, "I'm on the roof," or, "I just swallowed 100 sleeping pills." Because I go to sleep at night with my cellphone by my side, never knowing if I'm going to get a call like that. But chances are, I won't be the first contact. Chances are, it will be one of you. Are you prepared for that?
I never know how this will echo through their lives as they progress through the next few years, but I do this lesson every spring because it may be the only plea they ever hear in the drone of verbatim lectures and sterile powerpoint presentations.
Immediately afterward, two girls approached me and asked for advice about how to cope with some turbulent relationships. We talked for several minutes and continued our conversation down the five flights of stairs connecting us to the lobby.
About 30 minutes after my teaching day ended, I received a text message from one of those in attendance -- a boy who, by many accounts, has it made with a pretty girlfriend on his arm and a high score on his college entrance exam:
I want to say that thanks so much for your kindness and lesson, today. I'm a depressed boy and have been stuck in some problem for years. To be honest, I have been smoking for years too. You always touch me because of your care to me. Thanks.
Lessons like today show me hidden hurts and fears -- something that I, as an outsider, have no right to see. And yet, there I am, listening to whispered confessions that have, perhaps, never been granted permission to go beyond their own walls simply because no one has called out to them from the other side.
