Dear High School,
I was a well known student in your halls. Having been president of several clubs, a National Honor Society member, and tutor, my face was recognized by teachers I had never had. Not to mention you were my mother's alma mater. She trusted you with me, her first born daughter. She trusted you to take care of me; to watch out for me during the hours we were separated. But you failed. You were more concerned with keeping test scores up and pushing us into college that you failed to take care of the students in your care.
I was a straight A student, balancing school work with after school activities like a pro. Until junior year. I went from having straight As to failing out of classes. I was put on academic probation because of my 43% in AP Calculus. Reading English assignments took hours because the words began to move across the page in a way that made reading impossible. For the first time, I found myself falling asleep in class. My extroverted self became so secluded that I never spoke to anyone. I walked down the halls with my head down, just going through the motions until I finally made it home. And not one of you noticed.
Instead of asking why my grades made such a drastic drop, you simply told me that I needed to work harder. When I started having panic attacks during exams and I asked for permission to test elsewhere, you told me no because accommodations could not be given to honors students. Some of your teachers I had for multiple years in a row, and not one of them acknowledged the drastic change in me.
This is only what was happening during school hours. I was lucky at home. Lucky that I had parents who could recognize the signs. Lucky that I had parents that care. They got me the help I needed. In February of my junior year, well past the halfway point of the school year, I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression and put on antidepressants. And yet you still refused to help. Instead of admitting your fault and finally helping, you pretended it wasn't real. "You don't seem like the type to be depressed" was a common statement I heard from your teachers. The option for academic accommodations due to emotional distress was never given to me. Even with an official diagnosis, you refused to help.
Thankfully, with the help of my parents, I was able to overcome the odds and finish high school with honors. But not all students with these issues are that lucky. You, the high schools and the teachers within them, are the first line of defense. You see students more than their parents and thus should be able to recognize the warning signs.
After graduation, I spoke with several school officials trying to institute new training and programs to get students the help they need. I was told that the teachers receive adequate training in regards to warning signs and mental health and that any other types of training would cost money. Obviously the training they received was not adequate enough and to say anything else was not worth the money is an insult. These issues are not to be taken lightly. You are going to fail an innumerable number of students just as you failed me and I hope and pray they have someone who cares about them so they get the help they so desperately need.
So, my dear alma mater, I'm ending my letter with this: get your stuff together before some poor student takes their life because you failed to acknowledge the problem.
Sincerely,
Rachel Seamans Class of 2016
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