An accurate picture

It was like biting into the most tempting fruit, bracing for the delicious flavor, only to discover that it is sour, not sweet.  Not entirely disappointing, but not what you were expecting.  High School.

I've been thinking a lot about high school.  Autumn usually turns my thoughts to the past, especially those school age years.  However, I have also dredged up old mementos recently as my Happy Hour gang is gathering for a Haunted Halloween 1980s Prom.  Scary.

I have written quite a bit about the depths of my depression and the toll it took during my adolescent years, however, I have not extolled on the wonderful highs I experienced during that time.  Bi Polar is as the name implies, radical swings between mania and depression.  Although tinged, I did have great times in high school.

The bittersweet pain of an unrequited crush, the thrill of a great grade,  the sticky anticipation surrounding Prom, the rush from performing on stage,... I was not immune to these.

He sat behind me in Earth Science freshman year.  Raleigh Mason.  He was taller than the other boys, strapping even, while the rest stumbled over gangly limbs.  The other boys were brash and rowdy, vacillating between critiquing the feminine figure and arguing over last night's game.  Raleigh was reticent, reflective.  In truth, I did not know him well enough to accurately describe his personality but I imagined him moody and sensitive.  I romanticized him.  He ignored me.  My imagination flamed.

Medicated and educated about my depression now, I reflect quite a bit on what could have been had I simply known my ailment.  I was never a stellar student but I think perhaps I could have been.  Intermittently, I found my footing and excelled in certain courses.  Sophomore year, my english teacher, Mrs. Drake, allowed me to participate in an independent study.  I wrote reams of poetry, expurgating my  soiled soul.  Mrs. Drake encouraged me, plying me with authors our little library didn't even stock.  I earned a perfect score and more importantly validation.

My junior year found me still mooning over Raleigh Mason and fretting about the impending prom.  Rumors swirled that Raleigh might ask me, however I also caught wind that he might go with Rebecca Worth.  Adamant that I would not be relegated a castoff, I took the initiative and asked.... Alex Reithmiller, a boy who attended a private school.  I was brave enough to ask a boy, just not brave enough to ask THAT boy.  A large group of friends decided to gather pre-prom at Fran Downey's house.  I have a snapshot to commemorate the evening; a gathering of sparkling, smiling girls and puffed, proud boys and front and center I stand, sullen, casting a sidelong look into nowhere while everyone looks at the camera.

By senior year, I hit a high in my mania.  My grades radically improved.  I played soccer, danced ballet, made Homecoming Court, and auditioned for the lead female role in the school play.  I hardly recognized myself.  In truth I didn't stand still long enough to look in a mirror, afraid that the old me would step out from the reflection.  I got the part.  It was as if the cage around my heart had opened and a thousand song birds flew into the sun.  At such a dizzying height, you would think I would've walked slowly, carefully planting each footfall but instead I seemed a performer, racing across the tightrope, blindfolded even.  Our play won regionals and went on the State competition, where we were disqualified for unsuitable material... my character projected too much sexuality!  Although disappointed that we could not compete for the state championship, I was thrilled that I had performed so convincingly.  Heady, emboldened, I harnessed the energy from my character, and pursued my latest crush.  He rejected me, though a month later HE asked ME out.  The rejection barely stung, so impressed was I with myself.

Along the way, at each of this pivotal points, I was surrounded by my incredible friends...Cary Ward, Drewry Atkins, Aaron Hickman, David Phemister, Brice Rose, Joshua Elrod, Susan Groves, Missy Philipps, Jack DeCourcy, David Harbach, Jenny Darragh, Angie Jackson, Gloria Fennel, Sarah Williams, Ian Wallace, Cochran Lyle, Shawn Grimmer, Carla Smothers, Stewart Worrell... the names too many to enumerate.

In short, it was the American High School experience... friendship, failure, love, lust, rejection, triumph.  I am recognizing now that your past is what you choose to remember.  Too often I have felt doomed by my previous failings, rather than lifted by my accomplishments.  As I have pulled out my old yearbooks and tried on the old prom dresses, I can recall clearly that there was also sweetness in that fickle fruit.