I have been working in the school system as a substitute while I wait for my big break in the education world (I won't hold my breath). To avoid depression I liken my job to that of an undercover agent who has the very important mission of identifying the weary and showing them their potential; a resiliency agent. It has been really fun however, it is a treacherous and dangerous job. When I assign creative writing assignments I must prepare myself emotionally for what I am about to read; from poems to short stories the pain comes alive in fictional characters they create.One child, I will call him Derrick is a high school student and he wrote me a 2 page poem about his life up until now. Derrick is adopted, but the transition was far from easy for him. He titles the poem, "So you think you know me?" Before I begin to read I look up at his face, he is 15 and has this darling innocence about him, it is hard to believe he has a behavioral issue because today he is pleading with me to read it and not share it with anyone else. I thought to myself, "
Wow... this is odd... but okay", I fully expected to read some joke poem full of swear words but what I read changed my life forever. Derrick is a survivor of severe abuse and sexual assault. He is plagued with flashbacks and wishes people understood why he stares off sometimes or why he gets mad and stomps out of the classroom. With tears I am just breathless as I continue to read. It has been a couple of years since he has been in the situation but still, something about this poem has led me to believe he needs to talk. I was right, after class he came in and stayed all through his lunch and then some. He asked me with a quivering voice and wet eyes, "what do you think of .... me... my poem I mean?". I had to restrain myself from reaching out and hugging him because I am still a teacher and it just is not appropriate at the moment. I leaned forward, touched his shoulder and looked straight in his eyes... before I spoke tears were coming down his cheeks... "Derrick, I think you are the bravest person I have EVER met, the poem... it was a beautiful portrayal of your pain and your valiant journey to survivorship... you are amazingly strong and you will continue to rise above this..." I handed Derrick tissues and gave him a bottled water to help him calm down because I saw a familiar look in his face and I knew if I did not get him to ground himself in reality he would have one of his flashbacks. I am not a therapist, I am just an ordinary woman who knows how it feels to fight the good fight. Derrick sobbed and said, "you are the first person I ever told... other than the police and stuff... not even my counselor... I just knew I could talk to you, I feel like I am not alone anymore..." and I said, "Derrick, you will never be alone anymore... you now know what it is like to be free and safe..."... just as the bell rang Derrick looks back with a smile, " You know Miss... I never thought of it like that before... I am free..."
L. McQuilkin 2010
