If someone had told me how emotionally exhausting this would be, I’d never have promised a posting schedule. Fair warning that this is completely unedited, as writing it was painful enough. Let’s not waste any more time, shall we? I’ll never regret writing that personal Odyssey, as it was (and still is) something of a masterpiece, even by my own supercritical self-standards. I may end up sharing it here one day, but for now, here are the relevant aspects:
The finishing touch was a picture comparison: me sitting in a play rabbit hole when I was four vs me sitting in dark Wonderland (one of my first attempts at photo manipulation). Mrs. C loved it. She gave me an A and a long, thoughtful comment that made me feel even prouder than I already did. In fact, she loved it so much, she asked if I’d be ok reading it to the class. I was riding high on accomplishment and I lived for approval (that’s a whole ‘nother post), so I agreed. And of course, pride goeth before the fall. None of my classmates seemed to care about the story. In fact, the first question someone asked when I’d finished was, “wasn’t Lewis Carroll like that because he did a ton of drugs?” Despite the lack of response, Mrs. C still made everyone swear that no information from my piece leave that room. Yeah, guess how long that lasted? In less than a week, the usual bullies had new ammunition and exponentially more cruelty to dish out. I remember running to Mrs. C’s class in tears because of it, and she calmed me, encouraged me, and gave me the strength to hang in there. I know, all the build-up with the story probably made you think that was the linchpin. It’s a crucial part of the overarching plot, but it wasn’t the turning point. The concussion was. In February 2004, I slipped on a patch of black ice that was hidden under a patch of oil that must’ve leaked from a parked car. My head hit the pavement, bounced, then hit again. I lost consciousness for a few seconds. Dad ended up driving me to the hospital, and I was in agony the whole time. Knowing what I do now about head injuries and the importance of stabilization, not trying to get up and calling an ambulance might have meant I didn’t lose as much as I did. But once again, that’s a whole ‘nother post. For those of you unfamiliar with concussions, recovery happens in stages that can take anywhere from several weeks to several months. Those are just the initial symptoms, though – recovery from the late-onset symptoms can take years. Initially, I was out of school for almost a month, unable to get out of bed. On good days, I could sit up a little and see clearly, but most of the time, I could barely lift my head. On the really bad days, my vision was blurry. When I first tried walking again, my balance was so bad that I had to get a cane. But more on the symptoms another day – think about them too much gets me down. The fallout relevant to this story is that I missed so much school, the administration wanted me to repeat 9th grade. And leave myself open to even more bullying because I was a grade below my tormentors? I’m not even gonna censor this one: my reaction was a big “Well fuck that.” I went back for one last day – just long enough to take the National Latin Exam (and get Magna Cum Laude despite being post-concussive) and say goodbye to Mrs. C, who presented me with a class picture in a gorgeous personalized frame that I still keep close. I spent a year home schooling and recovering before taking my GED and officially “graduating” in April of 2005 – two years ahead of my classmates. Completing the requirements for a high school diploma was the real victory, but getting out ahead of my tormentors was a nice bonus. Was everything perfect? Heavens, no. Did I still have a lot of struggles ahead? Ooh, like you wouldn’t believe. But I got out, and survived, and moved forward. There are a lot of topics in this to be covered in greater detail later, but this is where the road less traveled begins. Dropping out of high school was the moment I tromped off into the woods, throwing the beaten path a rude gesture over my shoulder. And for me, taking the road less traveled has indeed made all the difference – the best difference. Will diverging from the well-traveled path work for you, too? I don’t know. I won’t sit here and encourage divergence for divergence’s sake. But I’m well aware of what still goes on in high school, and how as much as teachers and administrators have started putting more importance on mental health, there’s been no good solution to bullying yet. I know that teachers can be bigger bullies than other students, sometimes. And I know that there’s still a huge stereotype about people who drop out of high school. I’m very familiar with the fear of falling prey to that stereotype. But here’s the thing about being afraid: acknowledging that fear is half the battle to overcoming it. Sounds cheesy and trite, but look at it this way: I was very afraid of becoming “that high school drop out,” and that fear pushed me to study hard for the GED (my definition of studying hard, anyway – I learned many of my best study skills in college). Now, having passed the GED with flying colors and gone on to get an associate’s, then bachelor’s, then graduate diploma, I can proudly present myself as evidence that “drop-out” is not synonymous with “failure.” And college isn’t for everybody, despite what everyone may tell you. If you’re forever struggling with all the on-paper subjects but fixing a car is second nature, then go to trade school and become a mechanic. I ran into a lot of old classmates at community college who were also dealt a raw deal by students and staff alike, and I remember one of them telling me she wanted to go on to be a stylist. If Facebook is anything to go by, she’s doing well. So to close this all off/sum it all up, I’m going to bring it back to that quote from the first post and add another one from the same book. Every triumph begins with failure, for sure, but it’s how we handle that failure that determines what happens next. Yes, I know exactly how hard it is to remember this – I still have trouble remembering it sometimes. So here’s some more words from Gidwitz’s The Grimm Conclusion about how to handle failure and other problems: “…their problems would never have been solved by trying to cover them up or choke them back or pretend they didn’t exist. By repression. No, their problems could only be solved by expression. By telling their tales, and by making up new ones, too.” So I’m telling my tale and making up new ones, and by “making up new ones” I mean going forward with life. And if a neurologically-nuanced high school drop-out can make a difference in the world while finding her place in it as well, who’s to say you can’t, too?
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