August 2014
Every summer I get this excitement about going back to school. I would idealistically and foolishly imagine myself getting perfect grades, having fun with friends and accomplishing great things. And every year school would start and within a few months I wondered why on earth I had thought that. And yet school would get out and the cycle would repeat. Even last summer I sometimes caught myself feeling little sparks of hopeful and excited, after the traumatizing spring of soul-crushing bullies, dry raw loneliness, and harshly difficult schooling on top of all of it. I naively had a brief quixotic vision of there is still a chance of redeeming myself. Don't worry, I quickly reality-checked myself and assured myself that being exposed to that will be terrifying and unbearable. (Which it was, and then some.)
This summer I noticed that I didn't get that feeling whatsoever. In fact, if anything I am horribly anxious. One day in particular triggered paralyzing flashbacks: I went to my friend Brenna's house to work on our labs for our summer chemistry course, and she reluctantly told me that a few months ago when we were in school she had to stand up to two boys from school because they were talking about me behind my back and saying mean things about me. Both of these boys I have had major crushes on in the past; one openly admittedly hates me, has bullied me for two years and can still sleep at night, and the other in front of whom I have just made a fool out myself countless times. When Brenna told me this, everything came flooding back: I was back at high school, that weak loner girl who didn't fit no matter where she turned.
But it doesn't end there. That evening, I attended my first Sequim City Band rehearsal and my fellow flute-playing "friend" told me that there was a band officer meeting earlier, completely oblivious of my feelings. The previous spring I ran for officer and apparently no one had bothered to tell me that I didn't win the vote. I spent all year thinking that I would be an officer for my senior year. I actually started crying during practice. That day I learned that I was not very well liked among the band members. I knew that there were many who weren't fond of me but I didn't think those who didn't like me outnumbered those who did or where indifferent put together. Believe it or not, this sort of newsflash has happened an obnoxiously excessive amount of times.
If there's anything I concluded on that day, it's that I DON'T want to go back to high school. I actually started crying as I wrote this entry at the thought of my previous experiences in a public high school--my peers either hating or not caring about me, the school administration treating me like anything but a human being, living in the shadow of my younger sister, my parents not only being indifferent to my misery but actually blaming me and disciplining me for it. I can still see their furious faces glaring into my eyes.... My high school experience could be accurately summed up with the image of me flailing my arms in the air as if attempting to get someone's attention, and saying "um, hello?" but getting no response.
Imagine violently submerging deep underwater and then painfully, slowly resurfacing. Even when you finally reemerge, you are cold, uncomfortable, scared, and out of energy. Spring of 2013 was the plunge, and last summer was the drowsy, torturous resurfacing, desperately gasping for air that wasn't there. Last year's release from school was more like a demanding, exhausting sprint race... sweat dripping off of every part of you, heart beating so fast it can barely keep up, blood frantically scrambling to go from limb to limb, you feel it vigorously pumping in every one of your battered, exasperated muscles... and finally getting to the end and your steps get quicker and smaller as you try to stop, but the powerful force of inertia strains your legs so much that you are flung and fall. I crashed into summer at full speed--and then, after a lot of crazy shit, stood up, sore, and collected myself.
This year I am a senior--it is my last year of school until college. This summer I experienced living my life for ME. Not for my parents, not for the school. I experienced not being terrified to go to school at seven every day, not being exhausted, bored, excluded, confused, frustrated, silenced, snapped back into place if I tried to speak up or do something for myself.... I realized how wonderful it is to be freed from that. That is why I decided early on last year that I would do Running Start for my senior year: a program where I take classes at the local community college in lieu of high school courses. As much as I would like to, I can't concur the all-powerful furious giant that is high school. There is a point when it is okay to give up. Besides, I was robbed of my dignity a long time ago: throwing in the towel and walking away from that mess is a dignified step towards rekindling my life and my happiness.
For the record, in the future I will homeschool my four presumed children (maybe someday I'll write a less personal and more philosophical post elaborating on why I would choose to do that). At this point there is no room for hope: high school is miserable, period.