Graduation, Smaduation

Yay for Senior Year!

Way back in Freshman Year, I wanted to graduate early. Had I gone through with it, I would have bypassed a ton of crap in High School, but I’m glad I didn’t. In fact, I think had I graduated early life would have been worse. I had Layla and Page as friends instead of my being a total social outcast because I was so ahead in school.

Anyways. Senior Year!

Page had gone to online school Junior Year, but had come back for orchestra—thank the stars.

This year I also dropped out of orchestra. No longer was it a safe haven. My teacher had started going a bit crazy and on the cranky side. The Robot had followed us (my orchestra peeps) to the highest level of orchestra. What sealed the deal was if I didn’t take orchestra, I could have a half day all year long.

Half days were the best! I only had four classes and seminary, then I was done for the day.

Mom often took my out to lunch. It was seriously a blast.

Yet…Senior Year was the year our English Teachers had us apply to colleg…

“I’m not hungry. I’m too fat. I’m too fat.”

High school is really where all the insecurities become wildfires, crackling and shattering every teenager’s insides.

Everyone in my friend group decided they weren’t skinny enough, and started going on some pretty serious diets. Lunch turned into a competition on how little they could eat and a conversation about how much they would exercises and what they chose to no longer eat.

Now, this is coming from a bunch of girls who were not only skinny, but fit too. The person who really affected me the most though, was Layla. She lost all her baby fat and was one of the most gorgeous girls on campus. Boys loved her, and yet…she didn’t think she was good enough. How could I possibly think I was good enough if I was nothing compared to her? I don’t blame Layla and didn’t blame her then. I made my own decisions, but these thoughts are what led me to my actions.

Long before this diet fad happened, an unbidden thought would always claw at the threads of my mind whenever I was with these girls.


A Lost Friend

Each summer, starting before my Freshman year, I participated in a week camp called Especially For Youth (EFY). This was where a lot of LDS youth and youth interested in the LDS religion got together and went to classes and got tours of various religious sights over the summer. This was honestly my favorite time of the year. I was away from everyone at school and no one knew me, or my brand as the “Quiet One.”

Had my school friends been there, they wouldn’t have recognized me. I talked and talked and talked. I got to know so many kids and made so many friends over those four weeks those four summers.

The EFY after my sophomore year, was one of the best I attended. It prepared me for Junior Year.

I label Junior Year as the “Year I Stopped Caring.”

I still stressed about grades and school, but I stopped caring what others thought about me, well at least for the first semester. I should change the label to “The Semester I Stopped Caring,” but the first one is stuck in my head, so let’s …


Throughout my freshman and sophomore year of high school, my anxiety continued to climb. I was involved in honors classes and AP classes. Studying was life. Sophomore year I finally stopped escaping to the library during lunch to study. Mom advised me to stop cutting off social opportunities. Yet, social situations also caused me anxiety. People had labeling me the “Quiet One” therefore, I wasn’t expected to talk. And honestly, most of the time I didn’t want to. Naturally, I am more of a listener. What caused me so much social anxiety was when I did talk I wasn’t listened to, I was discounted, brushed off, or even mocked at times. (My ridiculous blushing face didn’t help either. Think of the brightest red you can imagine, and place that color ALL OVER my face and down my neck. Yeah, my blush got made fun of tons, although Layla would tell me every day boys thought it was cute—which didn’t help in the least, but I commend her for her efforts. I didn’t care if a boy thought it was cute;…


My Freshman year was the year a seed of mistrust was planted towards the male species.

At this point, I was old enough to recognize odd things about some men in my church and other men I knew through my parents. Mom never specifically said to avoid them, but I never got a good feeling in my stomach when I was around them. She even had to sit me down and warn me away from some of my cousins who were known child molesters, but my extended family members were too cowardly and afraid of offending each other to actually turn these disgusting male cousins in.

All my life, my mom has had a mistrust of men (the reason behind this mistrust I didn’t learn until I was a senior in high school). The only men she trusted in her life were Dad, Grandpa, and some of her brothers. I don’t blame Mom for my mistrust in men, but it definitely attributed to my own development. However, the real reason behind my mistrust of males in general is hardly ever—outside of my family—has A) men noticed me and B) trea…

The Freshman Bullies

Gag me. Freshman year of freaking high school.

Worst year of school in my entire life.

Okay, that’s a lie. It’s the second worst. My worst occurred within college, but I’ll tell you about that later.

Remember how I said my friend group started branching out and making more friends? Well, it continued. And again, I only really liked my original group. The new coming members didn’t really acknowledge my existence, and I only got invited to things because I was a part of the “originals.” (Yes, that is what my original friend group started referring themselves as).

If people thought I was quiet in junior high, they had no idea what they were getting this freshman year. A brick wall, a thousand feet thick, and guarded with knights in shining armor.

I made some acquaintances who were kind to me, and there was this one girl in my orchestra class who started becoming my friend. We knew each other in junior high orchestra, but we didn’t talk much. She started sitting next to me in class…

Junior Hell

Another awful aspect of Junior High that contributed to my anxiety was lovely self-esteem issues. In elementary school—at least, when I was in elementary—we didn’t care what we looked like. Sure we would complement each other when we looked nice, but no one cared if you were fat, skinny, dumb, smart, athletic, or nerdy. For the most part, we were all really nice to each other.

Then Junior Hell hit, and suddenly cliques began to form, and if you didn’t fit, you were a social outcast.

My friends from elementary were social hits and butterflies, so I survived there. But I didn’t really make a whole lot of friends outside of my original group. I made a few, but they always ended up moving.

Also, puberty began. And I had AWFUL acne. Like, embarrassingly awful. My mother—the saint she is—got me into a dermatologist immediately. But, due to my awful skin, it wasn’t until High School my face decided to actually battle away the plague.

So here I am, anxiety ridden twelve to thirteen year old m…