It’s especially warm for a mid-October afternoon and I’m watching Hannah Wells’ auburn hair blow in the wind. The few dry leaves scattered across the lawn crackle beneath her Sperrys as she crouches onto the grass. We sit directly in front of her childhood home, examining the overgrown weeds and the god awful yellow chipping paint. She takes a long, drawn out breath and retains the same blank stare she had worn the majority of the day. This is abnormal for a typically talkative Hannah. According to her classmates, Hannah is your average prom queen, soccer star, and straight A student. She has no trouble making friends or attracting attention, and anyone could easily see why. Quite frankly, you would have to be blind to not see the beauty she radiates- inside and out. That’s exactly the reason why her peers, and even I, have a hard time believing that Hannah’s life is anything short of perfect. Unfortunately though, under her flawless exterior lies a dark secret that not too many people know about. Hannah Wells is clinically depressed.
Almost 2 years ago, during her sophomore year of high school, Hannah was officially diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder. Sadly, she believes her depression originated much earlier than she was diagnosed. Growing up in poverty and falling victim to constant abuse could be the root of all of Hannah’s problems. “Well, my dad definitely would have never won dad of the year,” she giggles nervously. “He drank pretty heavily and constantly shamed my sister and I. He emotionally, and even physically, abused us. And even after he left, kids at school took his place.” She tugs at the frays on her jean shorts, attempting to pull out the strings. “I guess that kind of led me to believe that being sad all of the time was, well… normal.”
Hannah Wells never had it easy. Throughout most of her time spent at Watkins Memorial High School, she was mercilessly bullied. Her classmates picked on her for everything from her weight to the clothes she wore. Eventually, Hannah had reached her breaking point. “It was the beginning of my sophomore year and I was in the house- in my room,” she motions towards her old home and her eyes shift to window furthest to the left of the second story. “I was home alone and listening to music while I was playing on my phone. I remember already being rather upset that day; I’m pretty sure I failed an important test or something. I got a message from a girl who regularly tormented me, accusing me of something I obviously didn’t do,” she pauses and takes a sharp breath while picking at her fingernails and tossing them into the blades of grass surrounding her. “She said some of the meanest things I have ever heard. She ended her hateful text with a sentence I’ll never forget- “No one even likes you, kill yourself.” I know, it sounds rather juvenile but I still cried for hours. Nothing ever hurt me so bad. I locked myself in the bathroom and, well, you know.” She makes a cutting gesture on her wrists and rolls her sleeves up, exposing her scars. “Luckily, not too deep. I still had to get stitches but I survived.” She buries her head in her shoulders and sniffles softly.
Recovering from this incident surely wasn't easy. Hannah’s mom found a new job and she ended up relocating to Licking Heights school district. Though the thought of transferring schools frightened her, it actually ended up helping her. “Getting out of that house definitely helped,” she sat up quickly and adjusted the Alex & Ani bracelets covering her wrists. “I mean, being surrounded by memories of screaming matches and black eyes didn’t necessarily put a nostalgic grin on a girl’s face.” She smirked slightly and continued to pick at her nails. “No one wants to spend their senior year with people they don’t know. But luckily, that summer my mom’s new job brought in a lot more money than we were used to. I got my braces off, I started dieting, and by the time I got to Heights, I was a completely different person. Boys liked me… girls wanted to be my friend... it was totally bizarre.”
However, the move didn’t completely solve all of her problems. Hannah is still recovering to this day. “How am I now? Well, sure, I’m not suicidal anymore but my depression still definitely consumes me at times.” She hugs her knees to her shoulders as if it isn’t 75 degrees and she isn't wearing a heavy wool sweater. “People look at me and when they find out I am depressed, they get angry. They say, “How could you be depressed? Pretty people don’t get depressed.” I guess from the outside, my life looks easy but it has never been easy. I still have to force myself to go outside some days and I almost never like what I see in the mirror. It doesn’t matter how seemingly perfect my life looks. Depression doesn’t discriminate.”
Hannah looks up towards the towering oak tree behind us as the wind blows some of the its leaves down to us. The breeze causes her to pull her knees towards her chest once more and she briefly shuts her eyes. Her voice cracks as she begins to speak. “You know,” she clears her throat. “I would never wish the pain I have felt on anyone.” For the first time during the interview, she turns and looks me straight in my eyes. Her eyes are glassy and she looks relatively flushed. “I just… wish people were nicer to others.”
Hannah strongly believes that things do get better, and she encourages anyone suffering from depression (or any mental illness in general) to stay strong. She says, “This sounds cliche but life really does get better. Notice, I didn’t say life gets easier. If anything, shit gets harder, but giving up isn’t the answer. Sometimes, you can’t handle all of your problems on your own, and that’s okay. I waited way too long to ask for help and it almost cost me my life.” Hannah stands up, brushing grass off of her shorts and I quickly follow suit. Her eyes shift towards the abandoned house one last time. She takes a deep breath and turns back around to face me. “This time 2 years ago, I hated myself. I didn’t want to be alive. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never be completely healed,” she pulls up her sleeves again and brushes her scars lightly with her fingertips. “But I’m getting stronger everyday. And these scars are a reminder of that.”
Hannah silently walks towards her car. The street is strangely quiet and the only sound echoing through the neighborhood is her keys rattling in her hand. She slides into the driver's seat of her chevy cruze and starts the engine. Before she speeds off, she rolls her window down and leans her head out for one last goodbye. Her solemn expression suddenly breaks into a slight grin.
“Storms don’t last forever. That’s for sure.”
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