I woke up to the sound of police in the hallway of my dorm
Everything seemed fine, they seemed fine
I still can’t get the sound of a walkie-talkie crackling in the hallway of my dorm out of my head.
The loud strike of knuckles banging on my floor mate’s door reverberated through the otherwise quiet dorm. “Open up, it’s the police” was repeated again and again, and all I could think of was that something bad happened.
I gathered my wits and opened my door to find a police officer turning his head to look at me. Sleep was still clouding my mind, but I wanted to know what was going on.
The police officer told me there was concern about my floor mate because of some things they said to their parents, and they wanted to check on them.
“Sorry to wake you, we’re just waiting for a key,” he told me.
I closed my door and climbed back in bed. I tried to sleep, but all I could hear was the static of the walkie-talkie, the knocks on the door, and the pacing of the officer’s boots up and down the hall.
Ten minutes later someone came trudging up the narrow stairs with the long awaited key and entered my floor mate’s room.
The walls of my dorm are so thin that I could hear everything.
“Wake up, it’s the police…”
“Please wake up…”
“[They’re] conscious!”
“Hey, stay with me now.”
“Look at me, don’t stop looking at me.”
I tried not to listen, but the police officer’s words filled every crack in the walls.
“Do you know how long you’ve been asleep?”
It got to be too much. I put my covers over my ears.
Half an hour passed and they left, still conscious, back down the narrow staircase. The room was left empty.
When I said the walls were thin, I meant it. I heard everything that made my heart beat progressively faster, and thoughts run rampant in my head.
I had only spoken to my floor mate once, just last weekend. There were smiles, jokes, and stories from back home. Everything seemed fine, they seemed fine.
I can only say what I heard from that morning, so I don’t know of any underlying causes or triggers, if there were any warning signs.
I can’t help but think that if I knew, I could have helped. If I understood the symptoms of depression, or anything else it could have been.
Because matter how “OK” someone looks on the surface, there might be a storm of emotions tearing them apart inside. Maybe if people talked about it more.
So we should talk about it.
I don’t speak from anyone’s experience but my own, so I won’t pretend to know how it felt. The only thing I can offer – the only thing we can offer – is support.
Your problems matter, you matter, and I promise whatever you think you can’t talk about, or ask help for, you can.
I won’t claim to know everything or anything even, but it’s hard, I get it. Coming to Boston University, almost 300 miles away from my hometown was probably the boldest thing I’d ever done. I can’t imagine what international students have to go through.
The first month and a half was rough, it’s still hard, but I had to learn that I wasn’t alone, even when I felt like it.
I know things don’t change overnight, and problems aren’t resolved instantly, that it’s all one big process, but I had to learn that it wasn’t me against the world. I had to learn that talking to someone can be painful, it can be difficult, but it’s worth it.
I needed to work up the courage to say something, to say that I needed help with adjusting and feeling lost and alone, and that’s the only thing I can wish for everyone else.
If you’re struggling with depression please talk to someone and call the Samaritans Hotline or the BU Behavioral Medicine Clinic 617-353-3569.