We have trapped ourselves into a routine. This routine gives some of us satisfaction but most of us boredom, repetition, discontent. We wake up to fulfill our role as a student. We get home and drown ourselves into a lot more AP work, college applications, SAT, jobs and house chores. And still, apparently, we don’t do enough.

My journey started from here, Upper Merion. At my first destination, I noticed several things. I noticed the constant foot tapping, the annoying clattering of pencils, the napping during lectures, the spike in anxiety as we got prepared for an APGAP test, AP Stat test, AP Bio test and an AP chem test, all right before thanksgiving. And still, apparently, we don’t do enough.

They say we don’t have mental health issues, that we are just exaggerating it, that we have it much easier than they did, but I can’t count on my hand the number of times I have googled, “ways to relieve anxiety” or “cheap therapy” or even “how to get rid of College Board” for that matter. And still, apparently, we don’t do enough.

Mental health is the biggest monster there could be. Zillions of teens and adults suffer through depression, anxiety and panic attacks. It’s hard to pretend to be okay while all we can think about is wanting to go home, sleep and simply escape. No, we have’t hiked on the Pacific Crest Trail, but I’d say we are pretty close to that. We’d love to just give up, but we don’t. And still, apparently, we don’t do enough.

The cold, dry air welcomed me into the homeless shelter, as the families looked at me with confusion. The 5-year-old boy welcomed me into the shelter and asked me, “Are you going to be living with us too?” I gave him a smile and nodded as I couldn’t help but notice his yellow, baggy shirt that touched his knees paired with nothing but a brown pair of flip flops that were evidently too big for him.

“These kids mostly get C’s and and D’s on their report cards,” Ms. Chamberlain said. The homeless shelter had about 15 families living in it, with kids of varying ages. Poverty is a battle these families have to deal with everyday. It’s like a never-ending cycle that controls every part of their life, may it be education, social life and even professional life. The families don’t get to celebrate Halloween, Thanksgiving or even Christmas. The homeless shelter wasn’t just a building to them, it was a home, it was the only thing that gave these families stability and support. As if the constant reminder of not being able to provide their children with a safe and stable life isn’t bad enough for the adults of these families, they are always under the pressure of having to juggle between several jobs and taking care of their children’s mental stability and their education and their social lives and their safety.

“It’s horrifying to see hundreds of kids, every day and every night, get admitted into the hospital for things that have no definite outcome, and what feels worse is to witness them try to make their parents feel better about it, when they themselves are as hopeless,” the receptionist at CHOP said, as she was asked about her experience working at the hospital. 

Growing up, I never really knew what it felt like to have someone close to me be diagnosed with some form of severe illness. But as I stood there, amidst families and their kids, I was overwhelmed. I was overwhelmed with the feeling of worry, sadness and fear. 

Illness is a constant battle that millions of people, no matter what part of the world they live in, attempt to combat. Talking to the receptionist made me realize the actual toll, self belief and confidence it takes for one to survive through the tragedy. 

The book Wild was a constant reminder of my own monster. The book is based on Cheryl attempting to overcome the tragedy of her mother’s death. For the first 16 years of my life, I was majorly brought up by my grandpa, who is now 90 years old. On my 6th birthday, my grandpa gifted me a winnie-the-pooh plushy, and that was my favorite thing ever. I held it while sleeping, traveling and even reading. However, after about 4 years, I lost the plushy, and that was probably the worst thing that has ever happened to me, no matter how foolish it sounds. The plushy symbolized my grandfather’s love, nurture and mere presence in my life. A man who loves painting, devotes his entire life to orphans and holds the most special place in my heart is simply not supposed to die. Out of all the different monsters I could be dealing with, the anxiety of how I am going to overcome my grandfather’s death surpasses all.

Wild is a beautiful representation of the effect a person can hold in one’s life. Cheryl’s mom symbolized courage, integrity and discipline and with her death, that is exactly what Cheryl attempted to bring into her life. While I still am as unsure of how I am going to deal with my grandpa’s death, this book taught me to give my best effort into incorporating my grandfather’s ideals and morals.