Why I Dropped Out of High School and Subsequently Decided to Go Back

“There are many reasons why I dropped out of high school.”

This is my starter line, my excuse as to why I dropped out when I, apparently, had everything going for me. AP Scholar. Decent grades-before I stopped caring. Scholarship to the University of Iowa by virtue of the color of my skin. I keep saying this line, over and over. It’s become my mantra, so much so that I’ve forgotten the real ones or just buried them somewhere where I wouldn’t have to look at them. But really? The reason I dropped out?

Well, there are many reasons why I dropped out.

Firstly, I was unhappy. I would like to take a moment to thank my wonderful mother for giving me her debilitating depression. Depression isn’t some soap opera disease. Maybe I’m just predisposed personality-wise or something but I believe that a certain extent of depression-clinical depression-is caused by chemical imbalances in the brain. There’s a point that you come to where nothing makes you happy anymore-the things you loved, the people who used to make you smile. Nothing. And so you sit through life wondering why all the color has drained out of the world. I used to call this the Grey. I also used to be suicidal. I am neither now. By junior year, I was hospitalized and finally medicated and by senior year I was back in the hospital. I never slit my wrists or cut myself. I never told myself that I was a failure of a person and cried myself to sleep. Yes, I was a bit shy in classes (sometimes) but I’ve always been the loud, outrageous friend, the one who makes obscene jokes and always laughs the loudest. And yet, internally, I was feeling completely empty. Everything took twice the effort. So yes, I was unhappy but that wasn’t the only reason why.

I didn’t feel like I was doing anything that I wanted to do. All my life I’ve tried to please people. I want my grandparents to be proud of me. I want my teachers to like my work, to give me A’s. I want the people around me to view me in a certain way and when I fail them, when I disappoint them, I am devastated. I hate disappointing people. So I was going to go to Iowa because one of my best friends was going there, because my mother and grandparents didn’t want me to leave. I was going to succeed in school because the people around me wanted me to and, I suppose, a little because I simply got used to seeing my name in bright lights on everything at school. I was going to study linguistics not because I love linguistics but because I thought that this was the acceptable career for me, the career where I could still please my family by not running off to art school to study writing and please myself by doing something that I enjoyed. And when the Grey came, I realized that all the things I was doing didn’t make me happy and that none of them meant a Goddamn thing to me. So I quit.

And the final reason: because I could.

I could drop out. That was something that I had control over, something that no one could take back but me. I was convinced that I was going to start doing the things that I wanted. I would get my GED because a high school diploma was not a validation of my intelligence. I would start writing my book, move to Chicago with my dad, get a job there and start living a life of my own. And in reality, all of my great little ideas were one thing: fucking stupid. I think, in reality, I knew that dropping out was a shitty idea. It just took me an entire summer to figure this out.

After a summer of writing, of attempting to convince everyone around me that what I was doing was what I wanted, of avoiding people, namely my grandparents, I went on a Youth for Christ trip to Colorado. I’ve done it every year since I started high school, besides my junior year. And it doesn’t matter that I don’t really worship God-I believe in him but I’m still working out the kinks of worship-but going there completely cleared my mind. There’s something about being in the mountains, just hiking and having all aspects of technology besides a bus and a camera absent that allows you to truly delve deeply into yourself and examine your very soul. And, with the help of a sign from God, I decided that I wanted to go back to high school.

I’m there now, just finishing up my Super Senior trimester. Welcome back to Kennedy High School. I can tell that some of my teachers are disappointed in me. Some had already given up. I don’t blame them but nor do I let it bother me like it used to. I’m getting A’s and B’s and maybe a C or two. But the reason that I came back, the reason that I came back to everything that I took for granted, was because I wanted my diploma. For the first time, I truly wanted it not because it would make high school end, not because I wanted to please people but because I wanted it. And I may not be truly happy now but I feel like I’m on the right path because I’m doing things for me, as cliche as that sounds, and because I’m doing things that I want to do.

Ramblings

Lately, I’ve been rereading books that I used to love-Harry Potter books, the Queen’s Thief series, Tamora Pierce and a plethora of horrible teenage fantasy books that I would rather die than admit in public that I have read. It’s strange.

Some of the things are great. They’re still readable. I still love them, purely for the writing quality and the characters. I’ll always have a soft spot for the Thief or the Queen of Attolia (Not to mention the last two, which are to die for). Actually, scratch that. I’ll always have a soft spot for ANYTHING that Megan Whalen Turner writes. Same with Tamora Pierce and J.K. Rowling.

I grew up with their books. Whether or not I grow out of the genre or the target age group, they’re still going to have that sentimental value to me. Even the books I’m too embarassed to say I read (Alright, it’s the Anita Blake books. After the fifth book or so it descends into such graphic sex that I can’t read them anymore but before that, it’s all good to me.) are still ‘good’. It’s not because of their writing quality but it’s because of that sentimental value, that “Aw, I used to curl up on my bed and read this” feeling.

I suppose I’m just feeling nostalgic because I used to be this huge lover of books. I still love reading but I’m pickier; I’ve been exposed to too much good writing. I sit and analyze books. I dissect them. And, being the writer I am, I have to read like a writer, admire everything from a paragraph break to a comma (and I do, God, how I do).

Reading used to be this easy little thing that always gave me pleasure, no matter how terrible the writing or the plot and now I just can’t sit down and read like I used to because my tastes have grown. Sure, I can go back and read an old book I loved but it’s still strange, it’s distant to me. I feel nostalgic but it never seems to connect with me like it did when I was younger.

How to Register for Your Super Senior Classes

When registering for your Super Senior classes, you should wear new shoes.

And a cute top. Maybe that 60’s top with the long, flowy sleeves and the butterfly print. Or the blue frilly thing that you don’t like but that you always get complements on. That one. And maybe put your glasses on. Try and act a bit classy. Don’t shake your hips too much when you walk-that’s the walk of someone with their GED. No, walk with confidence. Oh, yes? You’ve heard of me? The AP Scholar that dropped out? Yeah, that’s me. Now try not to puke up that sandwich you had for lunch and walk in.

Say hi to the nice lady with bleach blonde hair. Sit down like a real student. You have an appointment. You’re empowered. Wait for fifteen minutes until your counselor notices you. Hi, haven’t seen you since I dropped out. No, I’m good. My summer was great. Yours? How lovely. Smile and sit down like a good girl. There. Now look attentive. Nod your head without letting it seem obvious that you think he’s incompetent. Oh? Mm, that’s great. Now about-okay, yes, I can wait a bit longer. Sit pretty and fuss with your hair.

You look great with bangs, by the way. Very dashing.

Tell him about your new no BS rule when he comes back. He’ll find you cute, like a dead bunny on the side of the road. Be amazed when he gives you everything you need, without even one bit of incompetence. Smile more. There. Show off those pearly whites! Walk out with your new schedule. Hold your head high and try not to hate yourself for failing at everything you once succeeded at.

Stewart V. Wallace

Check out this interview with Jon Stewart on Chris Wallace’s show (Fox News) at the Huffington Post.

I have two things to say about this interview.

I. I don’t think that Wallace gave Stewart his due respect. I think he said “Hey, this guy doesn’t know more than me. Let’s show him a couple clips to shame him and we’ll have him repenting for his dirty little liberalism.” and didn’t really want to sit down, have a decent conversation and discuss things. He begins the show by saying that Stewart has been avoiding him, trying not to go on the show because, and this is heavily implied, he knows that his ‘liberal agenda’ will be found out, that he will ‘lose’ the debate. During the interview, Wallace says that he’s trying to “understand” Stewart. What, by pulling out clips of the Roast of Pamela Anderson and saying that he’s in the same realm? Yes, the Daily Show is aired on Comedy Central but it isn’t the same as everything on the channel. That’s the same thing as saying that, oh, I don’t know, that since the ten o’clock news comes on the same channel as Grey’s Anatomy that they’re the same, that they’re run by like people with like ambitions. And I disagree with that. Wallace just pulls out all of these low blows and tries to say, “Look at yourself! You can’t compete with me.” and he didn’t get that Stewart isn’t trying to be a news anchor; he’s parodying a news anchor. In his own words, Stewart said that he’s a “comedian first”. Wallace is saying how much he’s “trying to understand” but how can you understand someone when you won’t respect them, when you won’t sit down and try to have a real conversation-not throw out jabs and go “Na na na boo boo, I won.” It’s fucking childish.

A real interview, no, a real discussion, is not about winning or losing. It’s about coming to an understanding with the other person by explaining where you’re coming from. And in that sense, Wallace didn’t attempt to have a real discussion because he refused to explain himself, his own opinions. I mean, I understand that he was conducting an interview but, at the same time, he was backing down from all of Stewart’s questions, hastily moving on to the next question because he knew that he couldn’t ‘win’ the argument.

II. I agreed with every little thing that Jon Stewart said. I really did. I think that he explained himself well, that he put effort into the interview that Wallace obviously didn’t because he couldn’t get off his high horse and that he showed an intelligence and a grasp of the media and political systems that Wallace clearly lacked.

Brain Dead? I Think Not.

I read an article in Big Think today called “This is Your Brain on Shakespeare”  and despite the OH GOD WHY MUST YOU REFERENCE THAT HORRIBLE ANTI-DRUG COMMERCIAL WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY reaction I got from reading the title, I liked the article itself. The point is that language that is odd, strange, mixed-up or unexpected gives your brain a kick. It keeps it “excited”. But beyond that, I found this to be interesting:

For Davis, we need creative language “to keep the brain alive.” He points out that so much of our language today, written in bullet points or simple sentences, fall into predictability. “You can often tell what someone is going to say before they finish their sentence” he says. “This represents a gradual deadening of the brain.”

Davis also speaks of the possible applications for his research on other fields, such as treating dementia. “My hope is that we find ways to treat depression and dementia by reading aloud to patients.”

I’ve never seen a better reason to read. Read (good books) because your brain will die if you don’t. And when I’m sitting down somewhere reading a book and someone asks, “Hey, don’t you have anything better to do?” I can answer, “Dude, I’m preventing my brain from slowly decaying.” and go on my way.

In Which I Talk About the Gays and Whatnot

Today I spent my lunch period skipping class. I know, I know. I’m ‘bad’. Shame on me, blah blah blah. I don’t regret it. Anyway, my friends and I were helping to sell wristbands and cranes for Japanese club. They’re selling them to help Japan. It’s a great cause and I wanted to show support for this cause. And so commenced my awkwardness. I yelled out to people. I called people over to our booth, people I’d never met nor saw before. I called them by t-shirt color, by the jeans they wore-anything. I used an auctioneer voice. I told people that I loved them. At one part I told a guy that he could “buy a crane for your sweet heart…or your boytoy. Whatever floats your boat.” All these things embarassed my friends. I was the loud drunk friend in a bar who keeps yelling, “You know what? I love guys! You’re so cool. Let’s hang out more.” to everyone he’s just met.

My friend Tia was participating in the Day of Silence (She wrote her blog entry on the subject and why she supports the gays here) , in honor of LGBT people. We joked that had she been able to talk, she could have stopped me. Anyway, I began with this story because I wanted to talk about the Day of Silence (and also share how much I make my friends embarassed. It’s quite a gift I have). It’s a day that’s meant to point out the lack of a voice that many lesbian, gay and bisexuals have. We exclude them. We bully them. We restrict their right to love. The Day of Silence is one of those things that’s there to point this out. It’s there to point out just how intolerant we can be. It’s a shock and awe campaign at heart, something there to make people ask “Why aren’t you talking?” and go “Oh, I didn’t know that was happening.” It makes people think.

Tia said, “I want to coexist with the people of the world. I don’t have to always like or support them, I just have to live my life and stop trying to interfere in their way of life. If you want to be against homosexuals, fine, you don’t have to support the idea, you just have to let them live their lives and receive all the benefits of being citizens of the United States of America. It just irks me when people refuse to get along. I could argue for hours about it, and get really upset because I can’t help but think what if it were me?” in her blog post about the subject. The last part really makes you think. What if it were you? What if it were you that was being harassed? You would care.

Sexuality doesn’t define us. Our personalities do. Our choices do. Sexuality is neither good nor evil. And I really do believe that it’s genetic to a point. I mean, do you really think that in this intolerant society that someone would choose to be gay? You think they’d choose to be gay in a society where they wouldn’t even be able to marry their lover, where they would be discriminated against, harassed, bullied? They’re told that God hates them, that they’re going to Hell. Who would choose that? What person in their right minds goes “Yep, that’s the life I want.” Sexuality is something deeply ingrained in a person. It is unchangeable. We need to understand this if we’re to better ourselves as people.

In Which I Talk About Sex…

Lately, I’ve been thinking about sex. I know, awkward subject, Savanna. How dare you speak of that? But that’s my point exactly: why is sex so awkward? We view sex as both this forbidden thing, this sacred thing that must be shared with one you love, that must be kept until marriage and yet this thing that we do with friends and call it “benefits”, that we sing about in vulgar songs, that has become so casual. How can sex be both casual and sacred?

I know that it’s religion that makes many people view sex as sacred. I remember a conversation I had with my best friend. She told me that she planned to save herself for marriage because it was a tribute to God. I was doubtful that she could do it. I gave a speech which came down to me saying that, in this day and age, it’s harder to save yourself for marriage and that it’s not as important to people. We’ve got peer pressure, we’ve got the media. It’s much harder for a sixteen year old girl to say, “Well, I’ll wait until I’m married.” when she probably won’t get married until she’s almost thirty. In the ‘olden’ days, girls were married off much younger…they had sex much younger. There wasn’t all this hullabaloo about having boyfriends first and then working your way up to mister right.

I’m all for the right to make your own decisions in relation to your sexuality. If you want to save yourself, go ahead. It’s your choice. What I’m pointing out is that it’s extremely hard to do in this day and age. The Christian establishment puts all this blame on girls that have lost their virginity though. They’re ‘impure’ and must be born again as virgins. Since when did being a non-virgin make you automatically evil? Is this the mysterious 11th Commandment that Moses forgot to etch into stone? Your sex life is exactly that: your sex life. Save yourself if you want to but if you find someone that you love, if you find someone that you want to intimately be with then do it! Don’t let people tell you that it’s wrong, that you’ve committed a spiritual crime.

I’m of the impression that God as amazing as he is, doesn’t really care whether or not your hymen is intact, girls. God is forgiving. God is loving. We shouldn’t make him out to be this overbearing figure that is prejudiced and unrelenting. Although I believe in the bible, I realize that it was written by men who were living in a time of different standards. And I believe that they put some of their ideas that were shaped by these standards in the bible. I mean, for God’s sake, some of the books of the bible are letters. Yes, they’re letters from prophets but they’re still letters. This isn’t God directly speaking to us.

My idea of God is shaped by what I’ve seen in life, what I’ve read in the bible and of what I instinctively know to be true. I suppose I’m getting a little anti-religion but I do believe that organized religions can sometimes restrict our spirituality. And back to the topic of this post, it can restrict our sexuality. I mean, if God didn’t want us to enjoy ourselves a bit, why would sex feel good? Don’t be a slut but enjoy yourself a bit. Do what you want!

Now, for the casual side of sex. Sex has always been to me something that you do with a person that you love. That’s just my opinion of it. I mean, I think that casual sex is, if you want to do it, fine. It’s just making sure that you’re ‘safe’ and not becoming a complete slut that people need to remember. But once again, sex was made to be enjoyed. I do think that our society has become too focused on sex though. We’ve had these sexual revolutions. Sex has become more casual. It’s everywhere in the media. We’re all encouraged to be these raging nymphomaniacs. Just like with religion, don’t let the media control your sexuality. If you want to wait, wait. If you don’t, don’t. Just don’t let anyone else decide for you.

Dear You,

Lately I’ve been enamoured with the concept of penpals.

The idea of writing to another person, miles and sometimes oceans away is so romantic to me. I love blogging but there isn’t the intimacy of handwritten letters, of longing to get a new letter and the thrill of finally getting it in the mail. It’s beautiful. A lot of people just don’t understand that. They get an email and it fulfills them. For me, I want something different. I want something personal.

My first penpal was in second grade. I think her name was Tara-something like that. We grew into good friends, although we’d originally been forced to write each other. We promised to write each other after school ended. She never wrote me back. Maybe that wasn’t the best experience but it did get me hooked on penpals. I’d scour the internet for penpal sites when I was ten. Of course, I could never join any of these communities because my mother was convinced that forty year old men with handlebar mustaches and white vans were just waiting for a pretty young thing like me to write. And so I didn’t write.

Finally, with my teenage discovery of livejournal (and also, coincidentally, teenage angst) I found penpal communities. I wrote little “about me”‘s and emailed back and forth with a few but none really came to anything. Even now, I’m only on my second letter. But still, it’s the thrill and joy of sending and receiving. I’ve three penpals now. They’re all quite darling. They’re all also older than me. Apparently teenagers of my generation either do not like me or don’t frequent the penpal communities I do.

Penpalling is something I do to feel close to other people, to bridge the gap between worlds. Instead of IMing someone, there’s a personality to it, a distinct quality that comes with each letter. There’s the stationary, the stickers, the drawings and the mixtapes. You can’t do this things with an email, with a text. So even as my generation abandons traditonal forms of communication, I’ll hold on to the someday barbaric act of sending a letter.

It Just Ain’t Easy

“A One Inch Frame”, Tia Hieres

I sit down at the computer and open a word processor. My fingers are on home row, but I can’t get started. It’s like I have two days to build a city and I’m standing in the middle of my land with merely a bucket of cement and a brick. And I’m finding myself on the brink of the impossible. I take a deep breath, and think back to Friday, and the piece that was read to us in class. Anne Lamott, from her essay “Bird by Bird”, “Short Assignments, in which Lamott tells us to calm down and start out small. (http://www2.ivcc.edu/coburn/ENG%201001/Diagnostic/short_anne_lamott.htm)

I build the foundation of the first house, and bit by bit, I find myself writing my first blog entry of the week. One step at a time. It’s a lot of homework, but I’ve got a lot of time. I can do this. I’ve seen myself write a whole essay in a half-hour, and I can do it again, if I can narrow my eyes. I can make myself sit down, grit my teeth and do this. And so can you. Even if it feels like the waves are going to swallow you up, you can swim. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sA8PaIw5gcE)
Take some breaks too, because life isn’t just about working (no matter what they want you to believe) life is about playing ping pong to the white album, learning how to knit, stopping everything else you’re doing to tell your friend that she is beautiful no matter what some jerk said, and playing soccer in the snow. It’s important to get your work done, but it’s more important to play. Have faith, you’ll get it done on time, if you just believe and take it one bird at a time.

I feel exactly the same way. Sometimes it’s just so hard to sit down and write. Especially for my school blog.

Source

Sexual Standards

Look at the differences between those two videos. The latter requires you to be eighteen to watch. I mean, way back when, Sheree’s video was the height of risque. It was naughty, it was shunned. And now when I watch it I just see grace. It’s a beautiful and sensual dance. The other one isn’t. Showing off your ass and flaunting all your parts just isn’t appealing in the same way. I can’t interpret the second as a work of art. I don’t think it will ever be seen as a work of art, like Sheree’s video. It’s just softcore porn.

What is sensual has changed so much in the last hundred years. Once, seeing a woman’s ankle was enough to get a guy up and ready. We’ve lost sight of the little things that can be attractive and visually appealing to people. Now it’s sex and boobs and dicks. There’s no beauty like Sheree’s dance anymore. We give pole-dancing classes and call that art. It’s bullshit. To me, her dance is more beautiful and sensual than any girl flaunting her tits and ass.