The Girl Who Lived, pt. 3

I found the light!

That’s when I discovered him: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

I hadn’t been allowed to read Harry Potter when I was younger, so when I found The Sorcerer’s Stone movie online, it was a whole new experience for me. I watched in awe as Hagrid told Harry that he was a wizard, and as Harry’s wand chose him in Ollivander’s shop. As the boats crossed the glassy Great Lake towards the twinkling lights of Hogwarts, the music swelled, and I felt excited to see what would happen to Harry, which is something I hadn’t felt for a long time. Soon, I went to the library and borrowed the other movies to see what Harry would do next. I journeyed with him to Hogwarts every day. While the depression blocked me from feeling anything, I could laugh at the Weasley twins’ antics, and I could cry along with Harry as he held Dobby’s lifeless body in his arms on the beach. It was glorious.

As soon as I finished watching the movies, I decided to try the books. I returned to the library and borrowed books one through four. I began reading immediately, and I found myself immersed into Harry’s world even more. I found myself clinging to Harry, feeling the same things he was feeling. As he suffered at the Dursley’s house during his sweltering summer break, I could feel his pain at not being understood and wishing he could be anywhere else in the world. And when Harry arrived at Hogwarts, I felt like I was coming home—I had escaped from my terrible reality into Harry’s, and I was experiencing his newfound joy along with him. Once I finished the fourth book, I decided to start buying the books. So, I found a used bookstore online, and I bought Order of the Phoenix. I was delighted when it came in the mail—feeling its tattered cover and smelling the musty pages. It was mine, and I could escape whenever I wanted.

I’m so glad that I found Harry when I did; things were about to get darker than I had believed they could. It was at this time that my mom’s mom died. She had hung on for three months after her husband died, but then she could live no more. My mom stayed in her hospital room until the end, and she was devastated when her mom breathed her last. I didn’t know how to be there for my mom. I felt like I was stuck in a desert, a creature made of dry, crusty sand that couldn’t move or speak; it was so hot and dry, all I could do was sit and the let the scorching wind beat against me.

I went through the motions of helping my parents prepare for the funeral, and when the day finally arrived, I resolved to be present in my funeral finery. But I didn’t know how I would get through the day; if I didn’t tamp down my feelings, my anxiety threatened to overtake me and send me into a full-blown panic, which I didn’t want happening at the funeral. So, the morning of the funeral, I packed myself a bag, and alongside my snacks and water, I put Order of the Phoenix. Its checkered blue spine peeked out at me from the black canvas bag as I stood to sing the funeral hymns along with the congregation. During the service, I kept it on my lap and let my anxious fingers stroke the worn spine as I struggled to persevere.

And when we got in the car to drive to the graveyard, Order of the Phoenix hung from my side in my bag. I knew that as soon as the service was over, I could escape into Harry’s world. Hogwarts was waiting for me, and all I had to do was survive till the end of the day. I felt a calming peace trickle into my mind, and I resolved that I could make it through the funeral—I wasn’t alone.

And make it through, I did. I survived till the end of the day, and then I cracked the book open and once again entered the world of Hogwarts. I let all the feelings that I had tamped down rise to the surface, and I could feel every single thing that Harry did. The end of Order of the Phoenix will always be my favorite part of the book—Harry has just lost Sirius, and when he goes to Dumbledore’s office, he wants to scream and yell and throw things. He’s angry, and so was I. I didn’t know how to express it, but Harry did. So, I sobbed along with Harry, railing at the universe, and then I clung to the fact that if everything would come out all right for Harry, then maybe it could come out all right for me too.

I slept beside Order of the Phoenix for months, even after I had finished reading the series. When I turned off the lights and laid my head on the pillow, terrible thoughts of death and self-harm would fill my head. But then I would roll over and see the tattered copy laying next to me, and I would remember that I could always escape from this world when I needed to. And that brought me immeasurable peace. I knew that I wasn’t alone…not while Harry was still alive and well. Without Harry’s helping hand, I do not think I would have lived to see the end of the summer. Truly, Harry Potter saved my life.

By the fall of 2015, I finally found the right combination of medications. My psychiatrist recommended a blend of a newly-produced depression medication and a common anxiety pill. So, I began taking three tiny tablets each night—two yellow, one white—and slowly I felt their calming influence creep into my life. At the same time, I found Erica, a counselor who listened without judgement to what I had to say and taught me breathing techniques to help me through the anxiety of school presentations or stressful customer interactions at work. Finally, the combination of meds and counseling helped me get stable enough to begin school again at a community college near my house. Also, I began spending more time with my family, instead of isolating myself. I felt like I had a future and goals to work towards again.

It was a slow-going journey filled with many more terrible days and night, and in many ways, it still is. Looking back, it seems strange and slightly ridiculous that my hopes for survival rested on a book series. But I can finally see the hope in front of me and know that things will be all right in the end—all thanks to the boy with the tousled hair and lightning bolt scar who decided that he was going to live.