High school ruined my life.

I’ve always wondered if I’d write about this one day. I have no idea why or how but I think I finally found the words yesterday, leaning into my kitchen sink doing the dishes. Here they are, the long awaited words. High school ruined my life. There. I said it.

Before I get into it, let me say that this post isn’t directed at anyone. It’s not to attack, discredit or in any way tarnish the name of the prestigious school that I attended. This post is for me and anyone else who still struggles to overcome the nasty stuff. For everyone who remembers who they used to be before something or someone changed it all.

Here we go.

Before I went to high school I was many things. But the one thing I remember the most is that I was confident. I was just not afraid of anything or anyone. I spoke my mind, tried out new things, made friends easily – my kid sis used to call me a friend magnet. I was OK. I was free. I made lots of mistakes but back then I understood that mistakes are a part of life. Everyone makes them. I ended up being the teacher’s pet, and I didn’t care that it seemed like that was a problem. I was just being me, after all. Like me, don’t like me, I’m good. In fact, the concept of dislike or hate was rather distant from my mind. It wasn’t something I thought about often, if ever.

I remember being asked to ‘teach’ the class while our teachers ate a full loaf of bread which had been purchased through illegal means (read sending one of the students across the fence to purchase the said bread), and downed it with a full thermos of tea. I realize you may think this was being consumed by several members of staff, in the staff room. Well, wrong. They were two teachers, and they preferred dining in the classroom, in full view of the students. But I digress. So while they were chowing down, I was teaching English. I even gave assignments, which my fellow students assumed were at my discretion to select. They weren’t. I had been instructed on how many exercises to give. Despite their unhappiness or whatever it was, I never really felt bad about things in primary school. I was OK. Normal. Happy.

And then I went to high school.

Horrifying. I struggle to coerce myself to recall it. Here’s the thing. I have come to believe that there is something completely evil about adolescent girls. Their capacity for hatred and unkindness is unimaginable. It seems like a cycle which is passed on over the years, the poison getting more and more potent as it is handed down. High school taught me that I’m not all that. In fact, I’m completely useless, and there is nothing pleasant or likeable about me. High school taught me that I cannot, must not, should never, under any circumstances make a mistake. Because mistakes are just not allowed. They are unforgivable. Mistakes are made by useless people who do not even deserve to be on the earth. Like yikes. How can I make a mistake?! High school taught me that if I speak my mind, I am confused. Very confused. Because nobody should have an opinion except those who have a license. And of course I don’t have one. And I can’t have one. High school taught me that there is nothing like a true friend. Because anyone who acquires that title seems to have an affinity to hurt you. It’s like once you declare friendship, you give a permit to be hurt, used, abused, betrayed… The list is endless. So yeah, friendship is nonexistent. High school taught me that there are no genuine people out there. Everyone is out to get me. EVERYONE. So I have to look out for myself, always. I. Must. Never. Trust. High school taught me that I am a failure. Unlovable and unlikeable. How depressing.

Lots of people hurt me. I hurt lots of people. I gained lots but lost lots too. I made tones of mistakes and got into trouble- sometimes for things I had done, other times not. Unfortunately, none of that matters right now. Because as I sit here typing away, I realize that the one thing I miss the most, the thing that I regret losing, is my confidence. The innate ability to shake things off and move on. The understanding and acceptance of the fact that I am human, so I make mistakes, and that’s OK. The unshakable motivation to try out new and challenging things, recognising the possibility of failure without being cowed. I hope that one day I can go back to being that little girl who is free… Free to be everything that God is making her to be. Everything that Jesus loves. And Biggie. And the relatives. I hope that one day I’ll wake up as one from a deep slumber, take a deep breath and finally be free of this spell of fear. When that day comes, I’ll shower, wear a pretty dress, maybe some lipstick too, and share this post. Oh, and maybe have some ice cream.

I look forward.