The Potential I Wasted

Setting: A modest living room in a suburban home. The room is comfortable but cluttered, showing signs of family life: magazines on the coffee table, a few family photos on the wall, and a half-eaten dinner on the table. It’s evening, and the lights are low. A clock ticks in the background.

Characters:

Ethan - An 18-year-old college freshman. He’s bright but withdrawn, with an air of frustration and sadness. He wears a grey hoodie, and his posture is slouched, as if carrying an invisible weight. He was sleepless, with dark circles under his eyes, and his pale complexion was starting to become a norm sight.

Dad (Paul) - Ethan’s father, in his late 40s. He’s an accountant, practical, and very set in his ways. He doesn’t talk about feelings much, but he tries to be supportive. He has a buffed and fit body type and a stoic demeanor.

Mom (Sarah) - Ethan’s mother, in her early 40s. She’s warm but a bit uptight. She’s been trying to reach Ethan for some time and is getting frustrated by his distance. She’s a bit shorter than her son, but she still treats him like a young boy.

-Scene begins with Ethan sitting on the couch, slouched over his phone. His parents are sitting at the dinner table, trying to make small talk, but it’s clear they’re concerned. There’s an awkward silence in the air.-

Sarah: (gently, trying to break the silence) Ethan, you haven’t touched your dinner.

Ethan: (without looking up, distracted on his phone) Not hungry.

Paul: (snaps, not unkindly) Come on, kid, you’ve got to eat. You’re wasting away in front of us. You don’t have any energy if you don’t take care of yourself.

Ethan: (quietly, with a touch of irritation) I’m fine, Dad.

Sarah: (softly) Ethan, we’ve noticed you’ve been distant lately. You used to— (she pauses, struggling to find the right words)—you used to be excited about things. Art, remember? Your sketches? Your projects?

Ethan: (sighs deeply, looking down at his phone, almost like he’s avoiding the conversation) I don’t have time for that stuff anymore.

Paul: (concerned, trying to steer the conversation) You’ve got your architecture portfolio to work on. You know it’s a big deal. Getting into a good school, this is important.

Ethan: (angrily, now looking up from his phone) I don’t care about architecture! I never wanted to do that.

(There’s a silence. Ethan’s frustration fills the room, but his parents look taken aback by his outburst.)

Sarah: (gently, trying to understand) But why didn’t you tell us? You’ve always been so talented with drawing. Why didn’t you—

Ethan: (cutting her off, louder now) Because you guys don’t listen. You don’t hear me. (pauses, shaking his head, voice cracking) It’s like none of this matters. Just… just get good grades, get into a good school, and everything will be fine, right? Well, it’s not fine. I hate it. I hate it all.

(The room goes tense. Ethan stands abruptly and walks toward the window, looking out, as if hoping to escape his own thoughts.)

Paul: (with growing frustration but a softer tone) Ethan, we’re trying to help you. You’re throwing away your future. You’ve got a path laid out for you—a good path. You can’t just give up on it.

Ethan: (snaps, turning back toward his parents) I’m not giving up on anything! I’m burned out, Dad. I’m suffocating. You don’t get it. I’m just—(he stops, realizing he’s about to break down)—I’m tired. I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not.

(There’s a beat. Ethan lowers his head, feeling vulnerable. His parents exchange a quick, concerned glance.)

Sarah: (softly) Ethan, you don’t have to be something you’re not. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.

Paul: (finally stepping in, more quietly, trying to meet Ethan halfway) Maybe we’ve been too focused on what we thought was best for you. But we didn’t realize… (he pauses, his voice softer than usual) we didn’t realize you were hurting like this.

Ethan: (shaking his head, voice hoarse) You never asked. You just—just assumed I’d go along with it.

(Ethan sits down on the couch again, exhausted. His voice drops to a whisper.)

Ethan: I can’t do it anymore. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t even know what I want.

(A long silence. Sarah moves closer, sitting beside Ethan. She gently places a hand on his shoulder.)

Sarah: Ethan… honey, you don’t have to have everything figured out. You’re allowed to be lost. You’re allowed to feel like this.

Paul: (after a long pause, quietly, to himself more than anyone) I… I should have seen it. All this time, I thought you were just being difficult. But maybe… maybe I was the one being difficult.

Ethan: (sighs, wiping his eyes) I’m scared. I’m scared of disappointing you both. But I’m also scared of losing myself.

Paul: (pauses, swallowing hard, and then says in a voice that’s uncharacteristically soft) I’m sorry. I know I’m not good at this… talking about feelings stuff. But you don’t have to go through this alone. We’re here. If you want to talk. Or even if you just want to sit with us.

Sarah: (her voice soft and nurturing) Whatever you need, Ethan. You don’t have to be perfect for us.

(Ethan looks at both of them, a long moment of silence hanging in the air. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders seem to relax slightly. He’s still not okay, but there’s a shift—an understanding. For the first time in a long while, he feels like it’s okay to not have all the answers.)

Ethan: (quietly, almost to himself) I think… I think I need help.

(His parents nod, relieved but also deeply moved. They sit in silence together, a family bound by love, but now starting to understand the weight that has been carried for so long.)

End Scene.

This scene illustrates Ethan’s internal struggle with his passion for art and the external pressure to pursue a more "practical" career. It portrays the emotional toll of ignoring mental health and how a lack of open communication leads to isolation. The turning point comes when Ethan admits he needs help—a crucial moment in breaking the stigma surrounding men’s mental health and emotional vulnerability. The parents, especially the father, have to face their own shortcomings in understanding their son’s struggles, and in the end, they begin to create a space where it’s okay to not be okay.