As I took my final steps through the infamous hallways of Lake Braddock, I couldn’t help but be completely overtaken by a peculiar feeling. Sadness? It couldn’t be. This school has done nothing but cause me stress to last a lifetime. I stood by the main stairwell a few moments longer trying to decipher the jumbled code of my emotions, until it suddenly hit me. Graduation goggles. I wasn’t really going to miss band class everyday at 9:00 A.M., or learning differentiable equations before being fed the gourmet cuisine of the cafeteria. I wasn’t going to miss the spastic middle schoolers bobbing and weaving their way through my legs to get to class, nor would I miss the constant worrying of upcoming tests and missing assignments. These memories were seen through the filtered lenses of my graduation goggles. Not Sepia or Valencia toned, but Nostalgia. I could sit here and endlessly list the countless “life lessons” I have acquired through my lifetime, but I thought I would just narrow it done to my final four years at Lake Braddock. Therefore, I have compiled a brief timeline of my experiences throughout my four years in high school.

When I was fourteen, I was ignorant. Happy, but ignorant. Life was like a carefully mapped out schedule. I cried when I was sad, I laughed when I was happy, and I screamed when I was mad. Life made sense. When I was fourteen, I was starting my first year of high school and if I’m being completely honest, I don’t remember much. I hated Ms. Kaplan, I made new friends, I lost old friends, and as the year progressed, I slowly lost myself in what I believed others wished to perceive me as. “All my life I had been looking for something and everywhere I turned someone tried to tell me what it was. I accepted their answers too, though they were often in contradiction and even self-contradictory. I was naïve. I was looking for myself and asking everyone except myself questions which I, and only I, could answer. (Invisible Man: Page 19). I tried to mold myself through the perceptions of others without realizing the toll it was taking on my mental health. I began to see the gray side to life, and eventually I was stuck on the wrong side of the fence. “I tell ya, Hap, I don’t know what the future is. I don’t know — what I’m supposed to want” (Death of a Salesman: Page 12). This would carry on for quite some time.

When I was fifteen I entered sophomore year. I tried to follow my path, but I just continued to get lost in all of the grayness all alone.“On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world” (The Road: Page 51). “Do you think your fathers are watching? That they weigh you in their ledgerbook? Against what? There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground” (The Road: Page 272).

The years that used to pass ever so slowly were now becoming even more sluggish. I would often be struck with moments of hopelessness and depression. I called these moments being stuck in my “hole.” “Without light I am not only invisible, but formless as well; and to be unaware of one's form is to live a death. I myself, after existing some twenty years, did not become alive until I discovered my invisibility” (Invisible Man: Page 8). As for school, I still hated math, I still choked down the lunches I was served, and I still stressed over everything. My carefully mapped out schedule was becoming jumbled. I smiled at school in order to maintain my joker persona, and the hustle and bustle of student life kept my mind occupied. My happiness soon began to depend on my latest distractions: friends, food, phone, social media, and movies. My band trip to New York City was crazy and had no problem keeping me busy and happy from what I can remember. For a girl who was lost in the murkiness of life, assimilating back into my depressing reality was a little too much to handle. I slipped and fell right back into my “hole.” Only this time, I couldn’t climb out.

Junior year started off on the wrong foot. I got stuck in a math class I was not prepared for, I enrolled myself in way too many APs, and I was further down my “hole” than I had ever been. My classes put a weight on my shoulders that I could no longer handle on my own. I slacked off and lost track of my goals and priorities. You could say I was a lost cause, until I came across some very special people. We became friends, great friends, who didn’t judge each other or bring out each other's insecurities. We became the kind of people who radiated positive energy and provided moments of uncontrollable laughter and utter joy to those around us. Surrounding myself in constant positivity allowed me to get back to the main road and continue my journey with the reassurance of an actual destination, freedom: freedom from my own crippling thoughts and my own negative energy.

During my Senior year, I learned a lot. I learned how to avoid getting traffic tickets, how to make one-pot pastas, how to analyze literature, and how to love somebody. I also learned the difference between feeling free and being free, and all I knew was that I needed to be free. I had allowed myself to be enveloped by what I thought was my best self. I suffered from body image issues, self esteem issues, and false confidence to get me through my first three year at Lake Braddock. I felt free, but I was far from freedom. I had to let go. “I ran across the grounds in the direction I remembered seeing the dog go, toward the highway. I remember I was taking huge strides as I ran, seeming to step and float a long ways before my next foot struck the earth. I felt like I was flying. Free. Nobody bothers coming after an AWOL, I knew, and Scanlon could handle any questions about the dead man—no need to be running like this. But I didn't stop. I ran for miles before I stopped and walked up the embankment onto the highway” (One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest: Page 112). I may not be liberated yet, but I am slowly getting there.