The following is an excerpt from a reflection paper I wrote in graduate school. This account of his life was written from my perspective only.
Clayton Graham, who mostly went by CJ, was a nerdy, short, brown-haired, white, boy with a soft, squeaky voice, who managed to ingratiate himself with the popular crew during our years at Methuen High School. He was known for his intelligence and compassion. Over night it seemed, CJ rocketed to the limelight and began hanging around a lot with the cool kids—those arrayed in Abercrombie and Fitch and Hollister clothing. CJ and I weren’t that close but I respected him because he acknowledged my existence in ways that made me feel somewhat included and that meant a lot to me.
About five years after graduating from high school, one of CJ’s closest friends from our graduating class posted on Facebook that CJ had taken his own life. The post mentioned that he had been suffering from major depression and had struggled emotionally and psychologically after “coming out.” The post also included a recent photo of CJ, whom I would not have recognized had I not known it was him. CJ had gained a lot of weight since his days at MHS. His eyes looked heavy and forlorn; his countenance bespoke misery and despair. His injured, half smile conveyed suffering. I could only imagine how tormented and conflicted he felt. CJ was in the closet during all of high school, at a time when everyone was basking in their heteronormative privilege, much to his deprivation. I imagined a stoic, high-school CJ, who deep inside was an emotional wreck, slowly collapsing from the psychological weight of his burden, his secret. I imagined him contemplating whether his friends would accept him if had come out. I also imagined how events like the prom served only to intensify his feelings of despondency. CJ, and other students in the closet, were psychologically encumbered. They were wading gingerly through the thick, heteronormative fog of high school, struggling to find safe spaces amid a sea of oblivion. But no safe spaces were in sight at Methuen High; no place for CJ to unload the emotional freight that was suppressing his ability to self-actualize.
CJ may be gone but his story will continue to remind me that many of us are fighting silent wars everyday. It is these accounts of psychological trauma that pull me back and remind me to slow down in my thinking. The plights of others, whether psychological, emotional, physical, or financial, can linger silently for years especially if a stigma is attached to it. Over the years, I have become more intentional about reexamining my thoughts and challenging my perceptions of others. It is the empathy and compassion we exhibit everyday that makes this world more enjoyable for everyone.
