Addressing High School
Some people would say these were the best years of their life, some would disagree. As for me, I'm trapped in the ebb and flow of memories, both good and bad. I am undetermined in how to justify what words qualify the conclusion of these four years. Which memories deserve a scribe?
So I dedicate this speech to the brawn of my metal capacity. For once, I am willing to write a composition in vain. I managed to survive four years in such a place.
Two hallways.
One stair case.
Two floors.
Two bathrooms.
One (working) water fountain.
It is beyond me who decided school should last seven hours a day. One would assume that upon their first thought of these seven hours, the initial impression would be impending boredom. To sit under mental strain, and fluorescent bars of light - the bars they impede any escape, like a jail - would irritate a person beyond any reach of sanity. Seven hours a day, five days in a row. Not to mention, one must go home and continue their learning in their hours off.
What reasonable human allowed this decision to pass through the system?
Education is important enough to follow the ways of torture, I guess.
I was once excited for high school. It was a new position, a new person I could be. All my friends I made were new. I remember how exciting it is to start new friendships. Everything is clean, with no past memories to mar the trust between the two people. I miss being giddy, testing the limits of the new building. It was even exciting to test my limits with upperclassmen.
Upperclassmen are as far as goes:
They do get mad when you are in the middle of the hallway.
They will always regard you as a part of a social level lower than pigs in shit.
I think this is all because they are bored of their own drama in junior and senior class. Humans crave chaos. Humans butchered Neanderthals like deer due to competition and brain capacity. The same structure goes with high school - except no hunting knives are allowed.
The International Baccalaureate. Similar to drowning. The teachers throw you in a fishbowl and load it up with assignments, also known as water. If you can manage your actions and swim, rid yourself of the procrastination security blanket, you can accomplish so much. There were so many times that I couldn't sleep at night because something was due the next day.
Did I actually do the assignment?
No.
Probably would have taken away my anxiety.
Instead, for that, I was dosed. In freshman year, I was a Prozac user. The doctor told me that it made the "downs" weaker. He neglected to tell me that the ups were similar. I felt no emotion, except for hate toward myself. I tried to hard to dress nicely, to impress, to stand out. None of it was effective. There would always be another step I had to take to fit into the ideal person that people wanted to see. Thus began the era where I, Charlotte Wright, despised every single thing about myself. Becoming an ultimate recluse, screaming and crying wherever the need was felt, they put me into a hospital. It comes as a surprise to most people now to know that I was once insane. It turned out that the newest addition of medicine added to my system, Wellbutrin, had actually caused my breakdown. My doctor had briefly mentioned that It truly works for some people - and for others, It drags them down further.
Released from the hospital, they put me on different meds. It was at this point that I lost faith in humanity. Only momentarily did I heed the warnings about stopping my medication. It is said that it could cause a severe relapse effect. Heeding became boring. I had no respect for the despicable individuals who had crushed my soul before hand, and thus decided to rebel.
My pills were thrown into my bottom drawer.
"Did you take your meds today?"
I lie for only you.
It was upon this next month or so of my life that I had a bright awakening. I could talk to people. There was suddenly no urge to go punch a wall, or someone's nose. I wanted to get out of bed and be social. I now felt that I surpassed everyone around me, breaking the control of their dictatorship. And I, letting my serotonin guide itself, no longer trusted anyone surrounding me.
I made a best friend. We were wild. We did things parents would ground you for. We put more effort into spending every waking (and sleeping) moment together than we gave to our homework. There was something so uplifting about having a friend who you felt unified with. She was the first person who understood me. Everything we said was hilarious due to our similar sense of humor. I'd explain something, and she'd justify my reasoning by saying something I was just about to. My mother questioned if I would get a boyfriend ever again.
This best friend and I became hippies. We listened to only vinyl, wore peace signs and hemp backpacks. In my free time I read about Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin. Outcasts to their own society, trying to accomplish the Yippie goals of free living. I wanted that. I wanted to revel in an easy going life. I established peaceful mantras as my way of living throughout most of my sophomore year. People called me "hippie" and told me to wash my hair. I loved it. I became this nice, peaceful little girl with long flowing hair.
Where's Charlotte?
Making daisy chains in the backyard.
I was living in the wrong time. Surrounded by the wrong people. My extensions of peaceful mannerisms became abused by people I thought were close to me. It was quite evident that people were, in fact, assholes. No one looked out for each other. No matter how nice of a person you are, you will still hear day-old gossip, cheapened and elaborated by hours of age. The sunshine bliss of flower power became bullshit. It was a hazy dream I had convinced myself of one night.
The negative attitude, the familiar apathy, became comforting to me again. I could not sympathize with one person. I felt too good to be anywhere, in a non-cocky, quiet sort of way. Curling up in bed with my thoughts felt too nice. Quit piano. Quit writing as a hobby. Quit my journals that I had been keeping since I started writing. This is one motion I regret the most. I managed to forget most of junior year because I stopped journaling.
I wish I could document junior year well. I know that on December 3rd I attained a boyfriend I never should have. We've all had those kinds of relationships before, right? He lived far away. He was my secret for a while. A license made it all too easy to drive that two-and-a-half hour distance into bliss. Once again, I felt a connection with a human being. Something so rare to me after being stuck in a numb world for so long. I do not doubt it was love. It was love that made my car's radiator blow up in Southborough at 8 o'clock at night. My secret was found out.
It is this year that I have become the most comfortable with myself. After living with said boyfriend for months, I realized a few things, and grew up quite a bit. I realized that I was, in fact, a queer. The kind of person my mother told me about, where she said if I became one, she'd love me less. It took months to really mentally evaluate whether I was bored or making a life decision. I broke up with the boyfriend. He became willingly vagrant, with rent money he owed my parents, and flew to San Francisco. I came out to my parents. They accepted me. My dad even told me that he had some sort of idea.
I always told myself that when I finally was comfortable with who I was (going through such depression all of my life, I never thought I could attain such comfort), I would get a tattoo to commemorate it. I was queer and out to everyone. I knew I wasn't fat. I was okay with shaving my head as a female. Didn't give a care about what anyone thought about me. What a freeing thought - to not be held down by anyone's opinions. Acceptance is beauty and freedom. I chose a bird cage for the tattoo. Just a simple, wiry black outline with an open door. It symbolizes all of my struggles ending with accomplishment.
And this is how I feel about high school. My graduation essay is not written about academic achievement or my favorite teachers. It is to mark the changes I have gone through as a human being. I've learned tolerance. I have an appreciation for natural things and logic. I feel fifty years wiser than those surrounding me, because when you sulk in the dark depths of sadness for years, you have nothing to do but think. I pity those who do not analyze the world around them, or question the true meaning of everything. It is only then that you open up to yourself, and know who you truly are, for self knowledge is the most important thing in life.