12 years of preparing myself, and I wasn't ready. Nothing could have truly prepared me for the days leading up to one of the biggest days of my life. Hours of testing crammed into three days before we were finally letting go, finally graduating.

When my senior year began, I thought I was ready to go. I thought I was ready to leave the bullies, rumors, and stressors in the past. I didn't realize that graduation would really change my outlook on everything. I grew up thinking graduation wouldn't be such a big deal to me—I thought I was going to go in and out with barely any emotion going through my system. Of course, I was wrong.

I woke up early on the day of June 3rd, 2018. I struggled to get ready—everything had to be completely perfect because my mom had to get pictures to document the achievement that I was being handed. My makeup had to look flawless, my hair was curled, and I was wearing a burgundy dress with roses printed all over it paired with peach flats. I thought that if I was going to leave the school system, I might as well look the best that I possibly could. I really wasn't sure why graduation was such a big deal as far as appearance went until the day of my own graduation.

Sure, I had been to other graduations before—I went to my friend's older brother's graduation in 2016 and my own cousin's graduation in 2017—but nothing prepared me for my own graduation. The rush of the adrenaline, the emotions that were pouring out of every orifice that you could possibly imagine, the deep breaths that everybody was taking in order to hold back all of our tears. Nothing could have prepared me for nearly bawling my eyes out sitting in a seat with all of my peers. 12 years. We waited 12 years to be sitting in those chairs, facing the speakers, all of our families and friends surrounding us on the bleachers that lined the gymnasium that we were placed in.

Walking in was a hassle, we had to walk at an even pace in pairs of two. If one pair was too fast compared to another pair, it would mess up the entire timing. It had to be precise. It had to be exact. I was lucky enough that my partner was one of my best friends, Kyle. He had been there for me through a lot during high school, so I was glad that I was able to walk beside him as his peer, and his friend, one last time. I was holding the red-dipped white rose that the girls were given, trying to focus on not tripping as I walked to my seat. We had to stay standing until everybody was at their seat, then we had to sit collectively as a group. If even one person sat down too quickly, it would have thrown the entire seating arrangement off.

I can remember our valedictorian speaking, reading her long and agonizingly painful speech about how you should always get back up if you fall because nobody will notice that you messed up if you just play it cool. Our graduating class, Huntington North High School 2018, had two salutatorians. One of them was a girl that had bullied me throughout all of our elementary school years. She was reading her speech when I looked to my right to see my mother sitting on the bleachers and bawling her eyes out—she had known that girl since we were both five years old. She was there every step of the way for both of us, not just for me.

The air soon went from cheery and light to tense and thick, suddenly it was hard for me to breathe. My lungs felt as if someone had squeezed them tighter than a large vise. My eyes were watering and I felt as if I was going to cry then and there. I couldn't figure out why I was so emotional about everything, I just shrugged it off and looked at my friend that was sitting beside me. She gave me a smile before looking ahead again - we were told to look professional, how professional would it be for both of us to break down crying in the middle of our own ceremony?

I was lucky enough to be towards the beginning of the alphabetized list—C is the third letter, after all—but it still felt so surreal to me. My row got up cleanly, and we began walking to the stage where we had to walk across, shake hands, get our diplomas, and then go back to our seats. This moment is one I will never forget, but not just because of how it was my graduation.

The teacher that was reading our names and giving us our diplomas had the honor of saying her own son's name when she read the names. She said his name with such pride in her voice that everybody's eyes started watering, including her own. She gave him his diploma, hugged him, and then had to take a moment to collect herself before she could continue. My friend, Haley, and I started crying then and there. For the rest of our row, the teacher's voice was still wavering. We didn't just get to be graduates, but we got to see a huge moment in our classmate's life that was made even more important to him in that very second.

Of course, life had to continue. We went through the entire tradition of getting everything and then sitting back down as a row. This is where being at the beginning of the alphabet begins to suck because you had to sit there through everybody's names before they could conclude the ceremony so you could leave. We heard a few more speeches, got congratulated by our teachers, and finally turned our tassels over. 12 years of waiting, and we made it through. Hours of testing and exams crammed into the last, agonizing days of our K-12 careers behind us. We were moving forward and starting new.

Graduation. A beautiful, yet agonizing, celebration.