The cliché is that high school is the best four years of your life. High school years are your glory days. It never gets better than high school.

 

If high school was supposed to be the best four years of my life, then the rest of my life is destined to be sh*t.

 

Some people thrive in a high school setting and I completely understand and respect that. Some people did have amazing high school experiences where they formed incredible relationships and gained invaluable memories. I was never one of those people. I formed an incredible core group of friends whom I love and continue to stay in touch with but I struggled for my entire high school career to try and live up to the romanticized notion that it was the best four years of my life. I also recognize that my experiences do not reflect the high school experience for the entire teenage population. Every individual experiences high school and its unique challenges differently. This is only my perspective.

 

My freshman year, I was miserable. I was caught between being a woman and being a child. I felt trapped and isolated, in a sea of perfect faces and bodies attached to people who whispered behind my back. I couldn’t find motivation for my classes, I felt terrible pressure to find a boy who would like me so I wouldn’t be alone and pitiful. I hated what my body had become. It had curves and soft parts and it was just too much. It both disgusted and scared me.

 

My sophomore year was a large shift. I began restricting food and lost some weight. I became more and more critical of my body and I began dating. Dating in high school is so strange because your parents pick you up and drop you off and basically act as a third partner in the relationship. I tuned out the cautious voices of my parents. I began to believe that if my body did not look a certain way, no boy would love me. I lived in absolute fear of my own flesh and breezed through relationships, never fully present, always too preoccupied with the size of my thighs or stomach. I let boys take advantage of my passivity and acted as a doormat for any needs they may have had, fearing that if I refused anything, they would leave me alone.

 

My junior year, my grandfather died. Shortly after, a close family friend passed away suddenly. One of my childhood friends committed suicide. A boy I was crazy about broke my heart. It all happened in less than two months. The trauma began piling up faster than I could process. I leapt into action and took care of everyone around me because reflecting on my own pain was too hard to bear. I figured that the more I stayed busy, the less time I would have to process my feelings. God forbid I should sit down and be alone with my thoughts. I babysat for my family friends who lost their father. I went to the wake of my childhood sweetheart and comforted his friends by the dozens. I helped my family process their grief. I never took time for myself. I remember my doctor standing at my friend's wake, saying under her breath, "Who is there for Roz when she breaks?" I acted like I didn't hear.

 

I turned to food for comfort. I binged. I purged. I binged again. Then I purged again. I couldn’t break the cycle and I was disgusted with myself. I couldn’t believe what I had become and I had no idea how to fight it.

 

I entered my senior year with full-blown bulimia. I was completely in denial and wouldn’t tell a soul. I was terrified of my body. I was horrified that a boy I had a crush on would discover I was insecure and take advantage of me. I couldn't even begin to tell him that I liked him because I was too terrified that he would reject me. I hid everything. I did my school work, I went to soccer practice, I applied to college and I kept to myself.

 

I began dating someone new during the second semester of my senior year. I figured I had nothing to lose and I felt comfortable with him, so I went with my gut. What started as an innocent high school relationship quickly spiraled into something manipulative and emotionally abusive. I felt worthless and controlled and definitely too fat. My eating disorder cackled with happiness inside my stressed out brain. I have never been so bulimic in my life than in the month and a half after I graduated high school. I fell into patterns of interacting with my significant other, feeling rotten and criticized and then purging. Despite being repeatedly disrespected and eventually cheated on, I clung to what I thought was the only relationship I would have. I was so blinded by my own self-hatred that I believed all the emotional manipulation came from a place of caring.

I accepted the love that I thought I deserved. The scars from that relationship have only just healed. They will shape my perceptions for every relationship that I have going forward as well.

 

College was my fresh start. I knew from the moment I stepped onto Occidental’s campus that this was my shot at becoming the best version of myself. My small town high school had not been the right setting. But Los Angeles, with its diversity and opportunity and capacity for life, this was the place I had to be.

I am grateful for those who have been there for every step of my journey to self-acceptance. I cannot express my gratitude for all those who walked through hell with me as I went through recovery. I am beyond thankful to my support system that guided me in the right direction, towards health and love and self-worth. And after years of reflection and processing, I am truly thankful for the traumas and troubling times that I went through. Without them, I would not have the self-assurance, self-awareness, and capacity for empathy that I have now. My journey has granted me strength that I never knew possible. High school was not my peak. College is not my peak. With any luck, I won’t reach the best version of myself for a while because the journey to that point is the best, most healing experience I have had thus far. The exploration of who I am as a person is something I cherish and is a gift that I’m thankful for every day. I can’t wait to see where I go.