Me at the beach on Memorial Day weekend
In elementary school, I loved school. Every morning, I would wake up, pick out my clothes, eat breakfast, and rush out the door to catch the bus. I loved the bus. Once I got there, I enjoyed the whole day: classes, music, art, lunch, recess, and most of my gym classes. I had lots of friends. We sat together at lunch, spent time together outside of school, played together at recess, and did really everything together. The last day or last few days of school, I was super depressed. I couldn’t bear the thought of having to go months without the daily routine of going to the school I loved and seeing my friends. When I got back to school, I was happy and shining like a star, and ready to start again. I always did well on tests and projects, but in elementary school, it didn’t really matter anyway.
It’s different now. I don’t like school at all. It’s such a hassle to tear myself away from the blue and white sheets every day. I just want to lie there huddled forever. I hate the bus more than I can explain. I used to cry when my mom drove me to school, but now the mere mention of her getting on the bus makes me cry. Luckily, I can drive, so maybe I’ll never have to take the bus again. I force myself to open my eyes and get any assignments done, even if it’s a class I like better. I have friends, of course, but none of them are as close as they used to be, except for a few. Even if I do have friends, it’s more like a school-related friendship. There are only a few days left of school, but I couldn’t be more nonchalant about it. I can’t wait until August to leave that door, and when August comes, I’ll be dragged back to that door again. I started eating in the library or in my car instead of the lunchroom. Not for any particular reason, but because the smell of the lunchroom and the uncontrollable chaos make me nauseous and cry.
I still try, but the social part of me has gone on autopilot: I fear coming across as rude, annoying, or careless, but I know I’ve reached a point where my mental state doesn’t allow me to constantly smile, even when the tears are threatening to fall.
I think I have lost love by trying to do everything for others. I dress in a socially acceptable way, I dress how I think others will like. I do things for others, I take on their problems, I give them company, I help them whenever they need it. When I am at school or anywhere, there is hardly any part of me that is for myself. I feel like a ghost, as everyone walking around is carrying a piece of me and nothing is left except the sound of the wind that I resonate with. The funny thing is, even though someone is carrying a piece of me, I don’t feel like anyone cares.
I know that’s not true, I know people care and I realize that they do care, but I feel the same way too, never being the first choice when they have a partner, never being the first invited to anything, and feeling like I’m overlooked when I’m actually going through something.
The worst part is that sometimes I just don’t want them to care.
It doesn’t make sense, and I know it better than anyone because I understand why. But there are times when I’m invited to something and I just don’t want to go. It’s not that I don’t like people at all, I just don’t know why. This story isn’t to gain sympathy or to make me the first choice for every partner because I don’t want it, even though I don’t know why.
This story is my farewell column, but it doesn’t feel like a farewell column. I had an idea when I started writing, but somehow it escalated and has led to where I am today. Like it or not, this seems to be the trend in my life. This is how I naturally write, and stories rarely end up the way I planned them.
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Everything will be different and I don’t know what it will be like for me, but I hope it doesn’t slow down, and I don’t think it will.
I know it won’t be goodbye, because next year I will be writing a lot more and, thank goodness, I am not very good at goodbyes at all. Next year will be different, because the teacher who made my school years so much better with my writing will not be my teacher next year. It will be different because there will be new TCT classes. It will be different because I will be older and will be a junior instead of a sophomore. It will be different because I will be taking the SAT and four AP classes. Everything will be different. I don’t know if I like it, but I hope it doesn’t fade.
I wish goodbye to all of this. I wish goodbye to my essays this year. I wish goodbye to my grades. I wish goodbye to the clothes I will wear to school. And above all, I wish goodbye to myself. Because I am sure that when I walk through that door in a few months, even if I don’t realize it, I will be a different person.
I know how much school has changed for me in so many ways, and that’s okay. I know my grades have dropped, and that’s okay. I know my smile seems to have disappeared, and that’s okay. I know my story is poorly written, and that’s okay. I’m okay.
Change is a contradiction, but that’s okay. Either way, you don’t want to peak in high school.
