Though the Scroll tends to cover more easily digestible stories adorned with clever titles, in order to honestly represent the current state of the Academy, we must also address topics that are
often deemed too uncomfortable, vulnerable, or awkward. Thus, in light of two recent tragedies at peer schools, we want to use our platform as a student publication to discuss mental health on
campus. Below, our nine page editors and editorial board have chosen to share extremely intimate personal stories detailing our own struggles with mental health. We ask that you read not to
judge, but to understand. To anyone who may be experiencing dark times right now: we hope these accounts can make you feel just a little less alone in your battles. We have also included some
resources below. Though it doesn’t always seem like it, talking to just one person about how you’re feeling can change everything. Please feel welcome to contact any one of us if our story resonates with you. To anyone wishing to support those around you: show just a little bit more love to everyone you interact with. Whether it’s checking in on a friend (or a stranger), starting a conversation with a quiet sit-down table mate, or simply genuinely caring about how someone’s day went, a little goes a long way for those feeling completely alone, misunderstood, or inadequate.
Clara Chae
Newsroom Managing Editor
*content warning:mentions of suicidal ideation and self-harm
Last spring I didn’t get proctor and it destroyed me. It confirmed my most profound insecurity: that deep down, I was truly a mean person. That no matter how polished I tried to make my outsides, everyone could still see something absolutely repulsive beneath. I hated myself for overreacting over something I thought was so small.
Obviously, my perceptions were extremely contorted versions of reality, but I nonetheless began spiraling. I’m not quite ready to disclose all the details of said spiral, so let me provide you with a highlight reel: a security guard showing up at my dorm at 1 am to take my reluctant self to the health center, a dorm resident walking me (again, reluctant) to the health center just a week later, countless anxiety attacks, serious considerations of suicide, crying on the golf course in front of my coach and two of my senior guy teammates, losing almost all my closest friends, a left arm riddled with cuts, and leaving a week before graduation because I simply could not keep up anymore.
Trust me, I surprised myself too by returning this fall. Yet here I am. And I won’t lie, it’s kind of sucked, but in some ways much less than I had feared coming into it. I’m still finding the ending of my story at Deerfield, but I think I’m okay for now
Sunshine Chen
Editor-in-Chief
When I was small, I voraciously devoured success stories of people my age. Malala won the Nobel Prize at seventeen. Gitanjali Rao was on the cover of Time by fifteen. I wanted to be like them. So, I told myself at seven that by the time I turned sixteen, I would do something that mattered to the world. I was going to find my calling.
And then sixteen rolled around, and I had no idea what I was good at or wanted to do. The people around me all knew what they loved: Lily was good at drawing. Summer dominated in math competitions.
I loved writing, but Albany Road and writing camps rejected my works. I liked physics, but I couldn’t handle a simple mousetrap car project and burst into tears in front of Mr. Creagh. I debated alongside powerhouses, but I always got the lowest speaker score. I didn’t even like debate that much in the beginning— I just did it because I was moderately good at it.
I was good at everything, but not good enough at anything.
It took a long time to find “my thing” (I was still deciding if I was a STEM or humanities person until 11th grade), but I’ve come to realize that’s completely okay. Everyone blossoms in their own time.
Jerry Huang
Digital Managing Editor
Three months ago, if you asked me whether I could control my happiness, I would have resoundingly said yes. Among many privileges, I was blessed to be born to two happily married parents who loved me and raised me to know a God who loved me more. I was fortunate to grow up in safe neighborhoods all my life and have the opportunity to attend school every day. So how could I have answered this question in any other way?
My despair must have been self-inflicted. After all, I had only my lack of discipline to blame for my tiredness and frustration. My life was bound for nothing other than unfulfilled potential — due to my own weaknesses — and the 69 on my final Honors US History Artifact Project junior spring only projected this sentiment, I thought.
Yet, in the last week of summer, after mustering the courage to speak to my mom about my burdens, my idea of happiness, and thus, my outlook on life changed. I was reminded that I was not and would never be the robot with the perfectly programmed discipline I used to strive for. Instead, because I am a full, uncontrollable human, I should simply strive to try my best, celebrate the small accomplishments along the way, and understand that improvement doesn’t require beratement.
Heidi Nam
Opinion and Editorial Editor
In my junior year, I questioned my self-worth, approaching everyone skeptical of their intentions. Were they friends with me because they enjoyed my company? Or was it because they wanted my answers to homework assignments, because they felt obligated to be nice, or because they had no other options and I was their last choice friend? Overanalyzing my friends’ motives, I quietly cut myself out of many relationships. As a result, I cried every night alone on my bed for two months during Fall and Winter Term.
I stressed about academics because even though I was trying my best on each assignment, there was no guarantee that my effort would translate to an increase in my grades. I felt guilty about taking time to rest because I didn’t want to risk letting my grades drop. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents or my future self when applying for college.
During these dark times, I could not see a way out. But I eventually chose to believe that there is light at the end of the tunnel. (This phrase is cliché precisely because it is true.) So my advice to readers is to trust in that truth and just focus on getting through one more day. Then one more. Then the next. All of a sudden, you’ll find that the tunnel is behind you.
Neha Jampala
News Editor
Junior spring, my heart literally, physically hurt for weeks on end to the point where I felt like it would give out from fatigue, anxiety, and stress. I feared that my academic ineptitude would ruin my future. I felt like a dead weight for my crew team. I found myself in situations that made me doubt whether I could ever prove myself. Every word I said felt thoughtless, and I felt emotionally numb and unavailable for the people around me. In moments where I couldn’t even be there for myself, I felt like my parents had lost faith in me. My isolation from my friends, whose hearts were also perhaps being stretched thin, prevented me from being honest with my own struggles.
One night, I opened up about a sensitive topic with someone I looked up to. He told me, “Neha, you do not need to be sanguine.” I hadn’t cried in almost three months until that moment. Sanguine, to me, is a heartbreaking yet beautiful word, which changed my outlook on vulnerability once I learned what it meant. Really, nothing hurts more than fabricating a reality that your heart knows is hard to believe. I hope you too, can find solace in words and people who give you the space and acknowledgement to pull your heart back together.
Gloria Chun
Features Editor
I started my junior year hoping to make up for the days I’d lost away from Deerfield during COVID-19. But, devastatingly, things didn’t unfold as planned. I felt like a failure, spiraling further away from my goals each week. My lofty academic ambitions soon diminished; I found myself struggling to stay focused as my new ADHD and PTSD medications began to alter my mind and body. My stressors soon ruined my aspirations of reconnecting with friends and exploring dance. By November, when my traumatic memories reappeared in my nightmares, my hope for an enriching school year crumbled into a struggle to stay alive.
My sister and I spent hours talking to each other. She taught me how to remain present, however frustrating and disappointing the present may be. “Just do it,” she’d often say whenever she saw me refusing to buy in. And while the old Nike adage sounded insensitive at first, I began to understand that she was encouraging me to live my life, even if it wasn’t perfect. I was distraught only because I held myself to an unrealistic standard. So today, I reiterate my sister’s advice to you: Just do it. Don’t let regret hold you back, because a change of plan isn’t a failure.
Lucy Guo
Arts Editor
‘Grandma passed away.’ I read the text message repeatedly, unable to process what was happening. At that moment, I felt like an unfilial granddaughter. People had always told me to cherish time spent with family as the future is unpredictable, but I never thought I would lose someone so suddenly. The last time I had seen my grandma was four years ago, prior to the COVID-19 pandemic. Since then, I had occasionally FaceTimed her, assuming I would have time to catch up with her during my post-graduation trip to China.
After receiving the news, I was unreceptive to my classes, sports, and friends. My mind was overloaded with regret for not having spent more time with my grandma. I felt helpless, unable to be there for my family. I wanted to reach out to others but, with college application due dates looming, I feared that talking about my struggles would burden the people around me with even more stress, so I swallowed everything behind a mask.
On the evening of the Choate bonfire, a friend offered me a hug — a simple gesture but one that told me I was cared for. A gesture that made me feel at home. Many of us are away from family but we have each other, and I encourage you to be kind and attentive to others as well as yourself.
Sarah Parish
Buzz Editor
The summer before my senior year, I could not wait to come back to Deerfield. However, my fall term did not go as expected, with the simultaneous pressures of challenging classes, college admissions, and drastic changes to my friend group.
Here’s a summary of my fall term: losing my best friend and spending every weekend night alone in my room, leaving a sit-down dinner early after almost passing out from a migraine which I later learned was from my worsening anxiety, feeling on the verge of passing out several times a day for weeks, and phone calls with my mom as I experienced several anxiety attacks at the thought of spending another weekend on campus (and thus many weekends spent off campus).
I felt alone. I felt like no one could relate to me because everyone else was enamored with Deerfield in a way that I could not understand. However, after opening up to my sophomore year proctor, I realized that this was far from true. I was not alone with these emotions and all it took was confiding in one person to realize this. Days can drag, but years fly. So, my advice to readers would be to embrace every lesson Deerfield brings your way because, while it might not feel like it sometimes, you are all strong enough to endure them.
Caroline Weller
Sports Editor
As a new junior, I was so worried about the future that I struggled to stay present. I began overthinking my entire life, and it manifested in everything I did. I would sit at brunch thinking about looming assignments and judge trivial choices as “right” or “wrong.”
I felt insecure because I could not be present like all my new friends (seemingly) could. Though I recognized that I had real anxieties, I never told anyone about my concerns; I blamed everything on being “Type A” or “a night owl” or “a perfectionist.” My teachers often told me that I put too much pressure on myself, to which I responded, “I am just organized.” However, once I opened up about my anxiety, I realized many of my friends faced similar struggles. Leaning on my friends gave me the power to instantly feel less alone. No matter what is going on inside your head, know that everyone else also has something that they feel insecure about. Even writing this makes me feel vulnerable, but if it helps someone reading it, it is worth it.
Mandy Xiang
Photography Editor
Growing up as the oldest child in my family, I became the nice, mature, kind older sister who always took care of others. Coming to Deerfield, I became an older sister to many people around me. But deep inside, I felt lonely, like no one understood me and everyone was focused on themselves. I thought that no one would support me as I grappled with difficult emotions alone. I suppressed my emotions, which was tiring and overwhelming. Eventually, I learned to embrace my emotions by reflecting and finding a healthy balance. I now realize that the loneliness, doubt, and anxiety I felt are shared by many others around me.
That’s why I try to give others some comfort whenever I can. We are all human beings who share very similar emotions. It is part of our experience to feel those emotions, embrace, enjoy, and overcome them. While reading this, I hope you could find some resonance in this piece and remember that there is always someone who genuinely cares about you in this world.
Lily Lin
Graphics Editor
*content warning: mentions of disordered eating
In a COVID-19 sophomore year, I returned to Deerfield from China, where the beauty standard was to be “paper thin.” I wasn’t allowed to wear leggings out of the house. “If you were skinny maybe I’d let you wear it,” my mom would reprimand me. I was convinced that I was “fat,” even though I knew I was “normal weight” by health standards.
I did, in fact, struggle with a strange reliance on food. Whenever I got stressed, I could not stop eating whatever was nearby— nuts, chocolates, cookies, chunks of butter— even if they made me nauseous or bloated. I would stuff in food until I’d be sobbing on my floor because of stress and guilt.
These breakdowns became a habit during junior year, until one day, at home, my mom walked in on me hysterically tugging on my hair and silently screaming into my pillows, pinching red the fat on my thighs as if that would dissolve it. My mom was terrified upon seeing this side of her bright, sunny daughter.
At Deerfield, my counselor at the health center referred me to the nutritionist, who gave me a lot of simple but effective tips. I started exercising out of joy, and ate moderately to ease my digestion problems. Though I know self-image is a journey that fluctuates, I am grateful for the health center’s support.
Campus and Outside Resources:
D.S. Chen Health Center: call 413-774-1600
Security: call 413-772-9880
Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: call 988
National Alliance on Mental Illness Hotline: call 800-950-6264
Crisis Text Line: text “Home” to 741741