an unexpected smile

11/1. I woke up and I did not want to get up to make that two-hour commute to work. I remember thinking that there was no way I could make it and if by chance I somehow made it, the only work I would be capable of doing is lying on the floor all day, lifeless. Duty calls, though, and so I forced my eyes opened and it escapes me how I found strength to drag myself there, but it somehow happened. It was still dark outside, and a swarm of thoughts and feelings hit me as I walked towards the building. It was peaceful and quiet—a rare moment of serenity, especially considering what typically occurs inside the walls of the building. Shrills of frustration escape frail, disturbed, and broken kids and echo off the walls of every unit. There are kids who feel as if they are thrown into a prison cell, abandoned and some kids store so much anger inside that they resort to using their hands, using brute force on others to have their way in the world. Some kids resort to using creative ways to try and inflict pain on themselves because they do not know what to do with all the pain and hurt inside. All of these kids are sleeping and temporarily drifting off in sleep to another world, perhaps more peaceful than the one they live in now. There are some kids, eager to wake up from the nightmares that trap them in their minds. What they all share is that all of them would soon have to wake up to reality, and that reality is often faced with burdens, struggles, and difficulties all too overwhelming for someone so young, so little to take at once.

When I reached the unit office, I sat in the silence and did my job—we followed a schedule where the kids take showers, brush their teeth, etc. It was right around noon that I started to get anxious and felt my stomach and throat tightening up. I had to lead process group and ask questions the kids least want to answer. We gathered around a table and I took out a fresh sheet of paper and fumbled with a pen. I wrote down the children's names one by one and could feel my pen and the table shaking with every stroke. When I finished, my eyes met with client 'M' and unfortunately for him, he would go first. M was an interesting kid. He was a frail teenager with bright red hair, and I worked with him the day before. I enjoyed spending time getting to know him and I saw a sort of child-like innocence and curiosity in him. From reading his medical records I knew that M had depression with psychosis and ADHD, but I also knew from working with him that he loves to ask philosophical questions, loves hard punk music, loves coloring, and loves to play card games. He often hides his thoughts and emotions, but there are rare moments where he thinks out loud and tries to talk to others, and I think those moments where he sincerely wants to make friends with his peers is so precious.When I first started working, I struggled a lot between whether or not I would first get to know a kid, or their diagnosis, but I learned that no matter what, hearing kids share their experiences helps you understand them so much more. The day before, M shared openly and explained his disorder to his peers and I was amazed at how vulnerable he was. He talked about a time when he walked by the street and he would hear voices in his head telling him to throw himself in the middle of the street. They would say things like "You don't deserve to live, you should kill yourself, or no one likes you" which immobilized him to a point where he would lock himself in his room and be stuck with these destructive voices talking to him nonstop. 

I wanted to help, yet I had no idea how a question could help him or if he would even respond. I cleared my throat and decided to just go for it. I asked M, "How are you feeling this morning?" and he responded that he was feeling 'amazingly awesome', although tired. I laughed and told him that those were interesting adjectives to use. He looked at me, tilted his head slightly to the side and asked me what an 'adjective' was, and I explained to him they are words used to describe other words. He looked intrigued for a second and continued to sit there in silence. And then the dreaded question came up: "What are your goals for today?" There was an uncomfortable silence after that question and looked down at my paper, wondering if I would get a response and how I would respond if I did. I looked up and he opened his mouth and replied, "no goals, I have no goals in my life" in a monotonous tone. I sat there sort of dumbfounded at his response and I became flustered. I did not know how to respond. I asked him this same exact question the day before and I wanted to help him but I didn't know what I was doing or how to help him. I didn't know how to convey my desire to help him. I sat there and after a moment of silence said, "Let's think about a goal together. Is there anything you feel like you are struggling with, a struggle you have that you would like to work on while you're here?" I carefully chose every word in an attempt to sincerely convey my desire to help him. After all, I did not want to make a mistake of calling his struggles a 'problem' where he might associate that word with himself and think negatively of himself. He was not problematic, or a problem and I did not want him to think that. He looked at me and thought about it for awhile. "The voices in my head...I want them to stop. I don't really want to talk about it too much because they get louder when I do." It was an answer I did not expect, and I sat there speechless, but once I snapped out of it I quickly thanked him for sharing especially knowing how difficult it must have been.

It really was hard for him to share, but I am so thankful he does. I asked M if there is anything that helps those voices to quiet down, anything he can do or we can do to help him, and the moment I asked that question I quickly regretted it. I felt bad because the voices seem to be something that must be so hard to combat and fight, as it was out of his control. Sure, there were medications that could help, but I felt incredibly dumb asking him these questions and I felt so unqualified. M responded after awhile and told me that when he talks to people he focuses on reality and the voices get quieter. I looked in his eyes and swallowed really hard. I really wanted to encourage him because I see his efforts and felt convicted to let him know that he was doing a great job trying to reach his goals, trying to fight the negative things that the voices would say about him. He was always asking his peers and staff to play cards, would attempt to start conversations and interact with everyone. I was trying so hard to word it correctly. "I've noticed you've been trying really hard to talk to staff and to the other kids. You've been doing a really a good job, I'm really happy for you." Words that sounded a little jumbled, clumsily thrown together, and maybe insincere because the execution was not so graceful...but I did manage to force it out of my mouth. I still don't know how he received it or if he even got what I was trying to convey. 

I looked down and was terrified of how he would respond. I took a deep breath, looked up, and in that moment, I saw a smile spread across his face and I sat there taken aback by the view. A smile always spreads across M's face as he is talking with others and enjoying himself, and in this very moment, he wore that same smile. That smile is so precious. That smile appears when he's not in a very low mood, when he is not talking about how much he is trash, how he does not deserve to be alive. For those few milliseconds he is happy, and I'm so thankful he was able to open up to me, even if it was just a little bit and share honestly. It is a moment I will always remember. I'm by no means qualified to help children and every shift I work I see that more and more...but to be used in even a small way like this, for this opportunity to talk to them and listen to them...I'm so thankful.I will carry that precious smile with me for a lifetime and it will motivate me to try and peek into the hearts of other people to try and bring smiles on their faces as well.