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It’s dumbfounding how little people can tell about someone just by looking at their face. All we see is a human face. But that face doesn’t give you any real understanding of who I am. All you get is a name when you ask for it.
Even if someone greets me with, "Hi, my name is," they’re still only seeing my face. That doesn’t give them knowledge of who I truly am. Nor does telling them my name when they ask for it.
You can’t know me by my face alone. You can’t see what’s in my heart, soul, and mind. What’s happening inside me, how much pain and suffering I carry. When you pass me on the street, you’ll never know the weight of it all. You can’t see the turmoil or the silent battles I fight every day.
So, when you look at me, you don’t know who I am. Nor do you pause to ask, “How are you?” or “What’s your name?” That’s why this story is important. There’s so much more inside me than you could possibly imagine. It’s different from how movies and the media portray it.
Like many others dealing with similar struggles, I’ve been misunderstood. The stigma attached to mental health makes us seem like something we’re not. We often don’t get the help we need, and society shuns us, making everything harder. For people like me, it’s a tragedy.
If movies and the media didn’t profit off portraying us as crazed killers or helpless victims, maybe we could live better, more ordinary lives. Maybe we could be accepted for who we are.
We wouldn’t be misinterpreted, bullied, or ignored. We could talk about our problems and get the help we need. But instead, we’re used for someone else’s gain—just so some filmmaker can cash in on a billion-dollar check.
It’s time you hear my story. The story of a young teenage boy who’s much more than he appears. The Strange Tale of Hiro and Kage Hamada