I have autism and ADHD, so while I lived behind my own eyes during the formulative peer-play years, I missed out on opportunities to make valuable lifelong friendships. And cute girls? Forget it. I’ve really just been on the periphery of existence in the eyes of my so-very-social counterparts. There is, after all, a glaring distinction between being invited to a playdate and actually being included in one. Currently, most still see me as that socially awkward weirdo. It’s hard to break this stigma in Schadenfreude High School. Through Middle School, I still didn’t have what anyone would call a strong friend base and certainly not a great social game. But I became a local celebrity by qualifying (twice) for the Scripps National Spelling Bee in Washington, D.C. and each time, I practiced nonstop for months, working with my mom, some teachers, and even my classmates, making sure my Washington DC experience would be one to remember! Everyone would try to stump me with random words. I loved it. People were actually talking to me! I didn’t understand the distinction between these random interactions and actual conversations. What I knew was that I was starting to actually converse with peers and even considered some of them as friends. My social life was looking up and so was I. I walked the halls with my chin up, I often made eye contact and my high-fives hand was at the ready. And, yes, of course there was this one girl. Isn’t there always in a teen-angst story? Well, Alivia saw my special brand of awkward and raised it with her own. All in, we became friends. And then. She died. In January 2020, in my 6th grade year Alivia intentionally overdosed on her depression meds. That irony is not lost on me. There was a good month or so where I just… didn’t feel any strong emotions, good or bad. Just…nothing. In February 2020, the world closed. Hello, Covid. My fragile social skills completely deteriorated. I had, like, four people’s phone numbers but, like, nothing to actually talk about with anyone. In the middle of April, Scripps cancelled the Bee. They couldn’t put it on due to national health regulations. By June, I cried. I cried because I missed speaking words to other people. I cried because I’d never speak to Alivia again. I just cried. I’m not sure I noticed when the slow, sickening grip of nothingness tightened around me. I went through the motions of existing for months before I realized there was a significant slip in my grades. I was stressed about my grades, my lack of friends, my weight, the state of the world in a pandemic, what the future held, and actually, who even freaking cared about the future anyway! Not me. I walked around in an unblinking glare of ambivalence, and I just wanted to be free of it. One day, I casually mentioned to my mom that I now understood why Alivia did it. That one sentence ended my world. My new world was filled with counselors and doctors, therapists and meds. My depression isn’t like Alivia’s or someone yelling obscenities at a tree. But it’s what I deal with every day. We all do. I live alone outside my own home, no matter how many others are around me. But that’s the key, the living part. Today, my current world is pretty ok. I’m looking forward to applying some new social skills when I hit the college campus. I’m currently alive. I’m currently living. The distinction between those two sentences make all the difference.