High School Stories

Freshman Year

Middle school itself was a mess on its own, though high school was where it hit most. I felt insecure about myself in so many different ways, anxious about every encounter I had, and on top of that, I had a best friend who had sucked me into a story that never existed for the entirety of high school and half of middle school. I will post the details of that story in my Middle School Stories reading and a story all on its own, though for now I'm going to summarize when need be, and only talk about high school. Trigger warning here: I will be talking about depression, self-harm, self-loathing, suicide, ED, and friendships/relationships. 

Also this is kinda everywhere but my mind is a mess so I apologize.

A lot of my early years in high school is a bit blurry for me, but I remember being really excited about finally getting to join marching band along with what I was used to, concert band. I played the flute, though eventually I planned on spreading out and trying out other instruments as well. I considered music a lot during my time there as my major, that and art. I ended up choosing psychology, which was a requirement for choosing classes for freshman year, choosing a topic to focus on and go into so that we'd have an idea for what we wanted to do after high school. Of course I didn't know for sure, as most 14/15 year olds wouldn't, but I tried to pretend I knew what I was doing and push off the idea of college until the last minute, like most other things. 

Band was my outlet during high school and I used it to escape everything else, at least while I was in school. I learned early on that school was really difficult, and because I was undiagnosed for several mental disorders, nobody took me seriously when I said I was struggling. I ended up never asking for help when I needed it and I would turn to other things to avoid thinking about school outside. I did pretty ok with homework in certain classes, but eventually I ended up doing most of my homework the night before it was due, working on it on the bus on the way to school, or in homeroom if my class was in the afternoon. I got lucky that I passed most of my classes, or at least enough that I wouldn't fail. I never really felt like I learned anything though, as I struggled to maintain any information for memorization and for tests, and I still struggle if not more than before. 

I was the quiet kid in my classes, barely saying anything unless I had to and drawing on all of my work. I would use drawing as a way to focus but also to make time go by faster because school always went by super slow. The only time I would really talk was if one of my friends was in class with me, and even so, most of the time they would talk to other people. I was never really good at conversation; I struggled with social cues but I learned to copy those around me to find some kind of interests and familiarities. This didn't always work, but it got me through the day I guess, especially in group activities.

I remember getting in trouble from my mom for drawing in class for most of my time in school. She was more lenient about it in high school, but often I'd bring a sketchbook so she wouldn't rip up my sketches (she did that in elementary). I improved my art as high school went on, though I always drew animals and characters I'd make up. I was always inspired by Instagram artists, furry artists, animators on Youtube, and through fandoms like Creepypasta, MLP, Pokemon, etc. 

I think my mental health started spiraling in the end of eighth grade and the beginning of freshman year. I struggled with not hating every part of myself, constantly feeling like a burden to everyone around me, and wished so often to just run off into the woods that was a little ways away from my house. I used these woods to cope often, though I'll make that a whole other chapter of its own. In a way, it was like a suicide ideation, because I wanted so badly to just run off in the woods where nobody could find me, and let myself die out there without anyone finding me first. I felt like the woods were my only safe place, and even so, I felt like the woods judged me just as much as the people around me. That probably doesn't make any sense but I'll explain it more in that chapter. It got to the point where I would struggle to even go out to the woods, because every time I would go, I would be distraught that I had to go back home, usually before my mom came home, so instead I would sit in my window and think about going back out. My depression and executive dysfunction made it nearly impossible to find motivation to go back out into the woods, but when I did I would always have a variation of emotions.