I haven’t been in a proper theater production since 6th grade. I was Juliet in Shakespeare’s "Romeo and Juliet," but when middle school came around, the world of theater was suddenly too daunting. I dabbled in smaller workshops and required theater classes, but by the time I hit high school, I was far too insecure to set foot near a stage let alone a crowd of people.

But my love of theater didn’t fade. Sure, I wasn’t in productions anymore but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy them. I went to see the Los Angeles production of "Wicked" more times than I can count as a child. The magic that transformed all these normal people into fantastical, larger-than-life characters on stage was beyond me. "The Phantom of the Opera" made me cry when I was 11 years old even though I didn’t really understand what was going on. "Joseph's Technicolor Dream Coat" was beautiful even though I’d never opened a Bible.

When my school did a production of "RENT" in 7th grade, I fell in love all over again. The high school put on most of the production—middle schoolers were only used as extras and theater hands. I remember prancing down the halls singing "Goodbye Love" and "Light My Candle" for months after I saw the production. This was when I first fell in love with "RENT,"an obsession that would continue to carry over for many years to come. I used to watch the (albeit terrible) movie version during any major change at that point in my life. Sleep away camp? "RENT". New school? "RENT."Relationship troubles? "RENT."Finals? "RENT."

I went to Broadway and saw "Once" about a year later. This was a production unlike the ones I’d seen before. The set wasn’t elaborate and the music wasn’t staged—it was rustic, raw, and all the more real because of that. The actors weren’t these unattainable beings anymore—they were people. But as much as I admired these people, as much as "Once" made them tangible, I knew I would never be them. So at that point, I settled for the role of the audience. At least I got to enjoy it that way, I figured. Conveniently, I also got to see an off-Broadway production of "RENT" on this trip that only enforced my newfound need to write plays.

I transferred to Interlochen Arts Academy for my junior and senior year of high school. This worked to my advantage. Though I went there for writing, I was able to attend all of the shows that their theater department put on. Interlochen’s theater program is well known as one of the best high school theater programs in the country and I was sure to take advantage of that whenever possible. I never missed a theater show during my time there.

This was when I realized that the actors weren’t the only shining points of the theater—the writers were the ones who got to create these worlds. While this seems like common knowledge, it was an entirely knew concept to me. I’d always considered myself to be a fiction writer. Maybe I could see myself as a poet someday, but the idea of a playwright never even crossed my mind. I’d never even processed that the actors weren’t making it up as they went along—someone wrote the words coming out of their mouths. Soon after this realization, I started reading plays, devouring monologues and musicals. This was when I realized I might be able to write something like that too.

I got to watch Broadway-level productions from my classmates for two years. As an introduction to Interlochen’s theater department, the first play of theirs I saw was "Platonov." This wasa play that I’m sure helped foster my current adoration of Russian literature. I went to One Act festivals, Shakespeare nights, "The King and I," "Amadeus," "Caucasian Chalk Circle," "Eccentricities of a Nightingale," "Mass Cycle," "The Laramie Project."Their production of "Dog Sees God," left me an absolute wreck and actually turned out to be the first play I ever bought the script of. When I saw "Elegies: A Song Cycle," we were all seated in a circle in a small, wooden building that looks more like a cottage than a theater. The actors didn’t have mics or anything so the end their harmonies were largely overshadowed by the enormous, heaving sobs from most of the audience members. And as circumstance had it, to top off my final weeks of high school, the spring musical my senior year was "RENT."

Now, sure, "RENT" has its weak spots. The ever pitchy "Your Eyes" has never been a favorite of mine, and at times, Mark and Roger’s need to “fight the system” was more than a little pretentious. I skip "Over the Moon" every time I listen to the soundtrack. And yes, there’s the obvious complaint that the play is depressing as hell. Everyone’s dying and there’s little-to-no hope for the livelihoods of most of the characters, even in the final scenes. But maybe this is why I love it.

I could never really express my love of theater, my love of "RENT," until I saw my high school’s final production of it. It was only open for one weekend, but I went to every single show, watching my friends die and come back to life over and over again. During (spoiler) Angel’s funeral in the epic showdown that is "Goodbye Love," Collins breaks out to cut off Roger’s self involved meltdown. He’s just lost the love of his life, but when reflecting on it he simply says, “I can’t believe this family must die.” This is the line that finally got a few tears out of me during that production I’d already seen countless times before. And as someone who almost never cries, this is saying something.

I wasn’t upset because Roger was moving or because Mimi had run off with Benny. I was upset because the shape these characters were taking were the same shapes my friends had. We were a jumbled mess at this point, each of us trying to figure out where exactly the next steps of our lives would take us. Some of us were planning for years in Germany, others remaining in small towns while others tried to figure out how to live again in rehab. There was alcoholism, betrayal, eating disorders, drugs, and defiance spread deeply through our lives in a way I’ve only ever seen handled accurately in theater. And "RENT" was the play that got at the emotions I’d been trying to explain all year. We were all complete wrecks with such undying love for each other, that these stupid harmonies on stage were the only things that allowed us to really feel.

All the worst points in the year, whenever we hit our breaking points, were surrounded by these plays. The words seemed to line up almost too well with our lives. We were a group of artists who didn’t know how to talk to each other outside of art. And watching these shows together felt like we were whispering these secrets that were far too cliched and cheesy to tell each other in real life. Theater let us communicate.

During "Dog Sees God," one friend was scared of coming out to her family:

I had evolved much more than I ever wanted to. Now I would learn to speak and learn to think and ask questions and make friends and lose friends and cry and laugh and maybe fall in love one day and maybe see that love go away and maybe climb a mountain, but I never wanted to do any of these things! I never wanted to feel this much! Platypuses don’t feel things, do they? Now, I’m trapped in this body that will always know regret.

During "Platonov,"I was in a new state and trying to sort out the trust issues that had bubbled up inside me over the past two years:

I kept thinking how marvelous it would be if I could somehow tear my heart, which felt so heavy, out of my chest.

During "Elegies: A Song Cycle," a friend was sent away to rehab:

And I am there in flowers, I am there in snow, I don’t know why this thing happened, But this much is clear, Any time you cry, Any time you sing, For anything, I’ll be there, Each morning, I’ll be there each fall, I don’t why this thing happened, But this much is clear, Be aware, I am there.

During "RENT," we were leaving behind a family we’d all come to rely on as our lifelines:

To days of inspiration, playing hooky, making something out of nothing, the need to express, to communicate. To going against the grain, going insane, going mad. To loving tension, no pension, to more than one dimension, to starving for attention, hating convention, hating pretension, not to mention, of course, hating dear old Mom and Dad. To riding your bike midday past the three-piece suits. To fruits, to no absolutes, to "Absolut." To choice, to the "Village Voice," to any passing fad. To being an "Us" for once, instead of a "Them." La vie Boheme.

Theater let us talk to each other when we were too afraid to say anything ourselves. Theater was, in many ways, our salvation.