Oakdale Ink

May 2025

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

— Maya Angelou

*Disclaimer: The following pieces of writing could include sensitive topics, please proceed with caution

“Burnout”

Seven hours for school, two for sports, two for dance, one for volunteering, one for friends and family, three for homework, one for clubs, one for meals, one for self-care, two for writing. Twenty two hours of tasks jammed into one, twenty-four hour day. I balanced it, I distributed my tasks throughout the week, always smiling, always top of the class, getting to practice early and laughing with my teammates.

I pushed forward, no time to pause and think, always racing to be first at the finish line, the best dancer in the group, straight legs and pointed feet. I was golden, compliments showering from every which way. Classmates looked to me to lead the way, to make the study guide, to shepherd the group projects. I was the example for what a good student looked like, the blueprint. I was front and center of every dance, my smile plastered on my face. My body felt full of energy, always ready for the next challenge, the next chance to prove that I was worthy. I was soaring through the sky, nothing weighing me down.

Months passed and I kept my chin up and my shoulders square. More practice, more studying, more homework, less sleep. I pushed myself to the next level; I signed myself up for the harder subjects, I planned my future, I moved up to varsity, I learned even harder skills in dance. My arms began to ache and my shoulders weighed down, but I pushed forward regardless. My sister sat at the end of my bed, watching as I poured over assignment after assignment. 

The few hours of sleep began to catch up with me and suddenly my head was down on my desk, I was slow at practice, my movements became sluggish at dance. “It’s a minor setback, a phase”, I told myself as my coach gave me a disappointed look. 

I tried even harder, working myself to the bone to be the best, the greatest at everything I did. Yet suddenly it wasn’t enough, my A’s slipped into B’s and C’s, I was moved into the back-left in every performance, suddenly I was on the sidelines cheering on my teammates. Twenty four hours in a day, and suddenly I was too tired to calculate how many of those my responsibilities were using up. I walked in the door, my bag dropping to the floor and my eyes trained on the floor. The sound of my parents asking how my day was reached my ears. I muttered a pathetic “good”, and went straight to my room. My body was tired, failing from underneath me no matter how hard I tried. 

I gripped my head in my hands, pulling at my hair. My pen hovered above the test, my mind going blank. Tears slid down my face onto the pages, blotching the letters and blurring them together. My body was screaming at me to stop, to slow down, to take a break. I felt as if I couldn’t go on, that this was it. 

I snapped. I quit my sport that I loved, I stopped going to dance classes, my grades slipped lower, I snapped at anyone who questioned the abrupt change in my behavior. My teachers pulled me aside during class to ask if I was okay, if the work was too much. My pride outshined my need for help, and I simply nodded. I clunge onto the belief that I was still the best, still the star student and the greatest at everything I did. Yet I wasn’t, I was now the girl to get tears on her tests, biting her nails and ripping out her hair. I was no longer golden. 

I was Icarus, I had flown too close to the sun, and now my wings were melting, the medal scorching my skin, falling to my demise. 

“As Good As Dead” by Evah Long

Again and again.

Elizabeth Gray’s life was one constant loop where each day couldn’t be differentiated from the one before it. Each day stretched into the next with no change of pace, simply the same routine repeated over and over. Again and again.

Elizabeth’s eyes blinked open to see the white ceiling above her. The house was completely silent except for the slow ticking of the clock. She rose out of bed, and walked in an almost mechanical manner into the hallway, her soft footsteps echoing through the silent home. 

Down the hallway, the dull leaden walls were only brightened up by a small portrait. The picture displayed a young ballerina, who held a large arrangement of different colored roses. Between the dancer’s position on stage and the look of absolute joy on her face, it could be guessed she had just performed and was now relishing in the cheers and adornment of her audience. The ballerina had chestnut hair, neatly tucked into a bun, and dazzling baby blue eyes, which made Elizabeth’s mousy brown hair appear dull and her pale blue eyes, lifeless. 

For only a moment, Elizabeth’s eyes were drawn to the picture, like a moth to a flame. The pure joy and passion of the dancer seemed contagious, and she had the sudden longing to crawl inside the painting and live inside it. However, with a shake of the head and a deep breath, she simply continued her morning routine, the same day seeming to repeat over again.

Following her routine, she brushed her teeth for exactly two minutes, entered the kitchen, carefully dragged her knife across her toast again and again to cut it into quarters, and left the house exactly at 8:30. The thought crossed her mind that she could’ve done the simple morning routine in her sleep. As she drove the same route as always, one thought plagued her mind; The ballerina. The passion. The joy. The pure longing. She simply shook her head, took a deep breath, and continued her routine.

Walking towards the front doors, Elizabeth’s heels clicked against the sidewalk. Looking to the right, small white and purple flowers sprung out of the ground. She paused for only a moment, pondering on whether she had passed by those same flowers each day that week without noticing the simple beauty they contained. Footsteps echoed behind her, her coworker muttering a monotone good morning. She simply shook her head and entered the office. 

As she passed each gray cubicle, she exchanged identical ‘good morning’s until she had reached her own. It included a simple matching white chair and desk with a laptop sitting upon it, with a ticking clock mounted on the wall. 

She moved the mouse to turn on the laptop and was immediately captured by the image flashing across her screen. The wallpaper displayed two figures: one was an aging woman with gray hair and wrinkles that suggested she had spent much of her life in the sun, and the other was the ballerina, this time with her chestnut hair hanging down to her waist. They held each other closely, and pure joy was shown on their faces. Elizabeth’s hand hovered over the mouse, captivated by the joy in their faces. The urge to enter the scene herself, to wrap her arms around the aging woman was strong. A tear almost welled up in her eye upon seeing the pair, but she quickly let out a soft breath, shook her head slightly, and clicked off of it. 

It was unknown to her how much time had passed, it could’ve been hours she sat at the chair or mere minutes. But soon enough she glanced at the clock, 4:56, and at the same time as always, she began to leave the office. She quietly packed up her belongings, gently closed the computer, exchanged well-worn goodbyes to her coworkers, and slipped into her car.

Her car softly hummed as she turned out of the parking lots. In the silence of the car, the same thought plagued her mind, the ballerina. The joy on her face, the pure euphoria of standing in front of a cheering crowd consumed her mind like a sponge, soaking up anything else around it. 

          She tried to forget it. She tried to take a deep breath and calm herself. She tried to make herself believe she was truly content with this life of constant work. But the truth was, she was miserable.

Her life was a constant circle. A cycle of work and sleep with no joy in between. Memories invaded her mind, the feeling of moving her body to the music, hearing the enthusiasm of the crowd, and knowing that her mom cheered the loudest of all. She felt a small tear slip out of the side of her eye.

As she lifted her hand to wipe the tear away, she allowed her hand to hover above the wheel while her eyes slowly fluttered closed. All she could focus on was that distant memory of the girl she once was, full of life and joy. The memory of the soft, free movement plagued her mind knowing she was nothing but free. For only a moment, she remained like this, a calm washing over her, with her foot on the gas with no idea where she was going. Joining the sound of her slow breath, she almost swore she could hear the sounds of the cheering crowd and the soft classical music.

Suddenly a different sound jolted her back to reality, the sound of a car honking incessantly. Her eyes quickly snapped open, her heart pounding in her chest.

But it was too late.

The truck was already crashing into the side of her small car. The sound of metal creaking and her own scream replaced the daydream, and as she felt the car spin out of her control and the airbags expand, one thought remained in her mind, ‘is this it?

Her life had felt like one big misfortune, the only good things prevailing being her mother and dance, which were both stripped away from her. First with cancer taking her mom, and next with a rejection letter from Julliard coming a couple months later.

It was only now that she was close to death that she truly acknowledged the misery she was living in. Her life was composed of days that were stripped of joy, over and over. Again and again.

Then the light of her world faded into a soft, white haze.

—

All I could see was white. No shape, no figure could be made out. For all I knew, I didn’t have a body, and I was simply floating in a white abyss. I tried to move, but to no avail.

Suddenly a warm sensation washed over me, and any worries were wiped out of my mind. The feeling reminded me of walking into the kitchen of my childhood home and smelling warm chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven, with my mom greeting me with a hug. Somehow, I knew someone was there with me. And somehow, I knew it was her.

“Mom?” My voice croaked.

A soft and warm voice spoke out of the abyss, “Lizzie, I’m here”. Somehow I knew that if I could feel my body, I would’ve felt a soft hand grab mine, while her other stroked my hair. I felt a strange sense of calm wash over me, knowing I was safe and looked after.

“How?” I asked, astonished.

“My dear,” She started in that smooth, calming voice that had once sung me lullabies to lull me to sleep at night. “Not everything makes sense, not everything fits in a box. I am here because you need me, and because I’m your mother.” She had a way of explaining things that soothed the mind and made everything more beautiful. 

“Mom, am I dead?” My voice shook. I suddenly felt the need for my mom’s arms around me. I needed her comfort the same way a small child would need their mother’s comfort for a scraped knee.

I felt her squeeze my hand before she answered softly, “If you’re talking about your physical body, no Lizzie, you aren’t dead.” She paused slightly. “But with the way that you were living, you’re as good as dead. You didn’t lead a life that allowed for any joy, any love, any passion. But it’s not too late. Live your life.” 

“Please don’t leave me mom. Not again.” I pleaded, squeezing her hand back, feeling my need for her more than ever.

“I can’t stay with you, I’m sorry my dear. Live, Lizzie.” 

Before I could respond, I felt her hand squeeze mine one last time before slipping out of mine as she slowly faded away from me. I wanted to scream, to call out for her. 

Small dots of my vision were fading into view, replacing the soft white light. The warmth that the presence of my mother had brought had faded- replacing it was a searing pain across my right arm. The sound of the hospital monitor beeping reached my ears, along with many unfamiliar voices. I tried to ignore the sound, to try and find the comfort of my mother once again. But it persisted, getting louder and louder. My eyes, my real eyes flew open, and the blurry faces of people wearing blue scrubs faded into view.

“She’s alive!” A voice shouted above me.

—

“Well, this is it.” Nurse Taylor beamed. In her arms, she carried my bags for me through the hospital hallways in which I had spent the last three months in recovery. In those three long months, I truly realized what it would have meant if I had died. I would’ve died without a soul to remember me, and not an accomplishment to remember me by. 

In those three months, it was as if I had pushed a restart button on my life. I quit my job, sold my house, and had to relearn how to walk. It felt as if I had been born again, fresh and new. My hair seemed to be growing brighter, and my eyes shined with a sparkle that made me appear as a more mature version of the beautiful ballerina. Even with the damaged arm that I was told would never regain full strength, it was as if I was the strongest person in the world. 

As she pushed through the doors to the outside, the summer air hit my face. “I never used to appreciate the weather, or anything for that matter.” I smiled at Nurse Taylor. I stepped out onto that sidewalk and breathed in the warm air, and looked out at the trees and the beaming sun. I admired the white and purple flowers beside the sidewalk, seeing how they flourished in the smooth heat. 

She smiled in turn, and commented, “You’ve really pulled through in these couple of months, we’ve all seen that,” She gestured to the hospital building, a small twinkle showing in her eyes. “We’re proud, she would be too.” An almost sad smile spread across my face.

The yellow taxi pulled up in front of the curb, parking to wait for me. I quickly pulled her into a hug and whispered a simple, “Thank you”. As I pulled out of her arms, I knew I wasn’t scared for what was to come. In fact, I felt that right then, in that particular moment, it was the happiest moment of my life. 

“Wait, Lizzie, what are you going to do?” she asked, holding onto my arm.

“Live.” I said simply, and clambered into the back seat of the taxi. As the car slowly started to move, I watched the hospital slowly fade out of sight, plunging into this brand new world. 

“Where to?” The man asked from the driver's seat.

The answer seemed to bring a sweet taste to my mouth, spreading a smile across my lips. “The Joffrey Ballet, please.”

“Without Me”

Without me,

The world would still go on,

People would still work jobs,

And children would still play around.

Without me, 

Politicians would still fight for power, 

Wars would still go on and keep happening,

And people would still die because of radical ideologies.

Without me,

Murderers would still kill,

Kidnappers would still kidnap,

And another innocent person would still be raped.

So why?

Why bother continuing to live if everything bad will keep happening?

Who cares what my family will think if there’s always other people in their lives

What’s my one measly life mean to anyone?

Without me,

Everyone will keep living their lives,

Everyone will keep doing what they’re doing,

Everyone will get over my death eventually 

So Why Bother?

I’m useless,

I don’t contribute to anything significant, 

I eat, sleep, and waste my life away,

No one actually depends on me,

So no one will miss me.

Without me,

There’s one less mouth to feed,

One less person to look after

One less person to increase the cost of living,

Everyone is better off without me.

*This piece was written to bring awareness to mental health due to mental health awareness month- Staff checked in on student due to nature of poem