When I was in elementary school, we learned about water molecules. During a lab, we put a glass under a faucet and filled it. Once it appeared full, we began using an eyedropper (or a pipette) and before our eyes, the water in the glass raised above the brim. The full cup becoming even fuller was a big, "But wait, there's more!," moment for me. It was magic to my eyes.

Actually, it was not called magic. It was called surface tension, which keeps water from spilling over, the same way you can form a small dome of water on a penny. Molecules stick together.

But let's go with magic.

My initial thought was how wrong someone was every time I would pour a drink in the kitchen and bring it into the dining room with the warning, "Don't fill it all the way up to the complete top, it will spill! You can always get more."

But I never wanted to get up again. Why should I march back 20 feet into the kitchen for more if I could play a one-person game show of "How Much Arizona Green Tea Can She Fit in This Cup?"

I realized, however, that the reiterated comment about not filling my cup too high was a cautious warning.

If you're holding a full cup and you trip or bump into something in even the slightest way, you will spill your drink.

What I didn't realize in elementary school, that I now do in high school, is people, especially students, are just glasses of water. Life itself brings up enough stress, but when something becomes an added barrier it adds just a little bit more and a bit more...

As the year begins, we are nearly a full cup, but not quite. The cup your mom would approve of you pouring for dinner.

When you commit to a sports team, job, or a club, you add droplets to your cup.

When you get sick, you add a droplet.

When something out of your hands doesn't go the way you would like it to, you add a droplet.

When someone leaves you, you add a droplet.

When it rains and your plans are altered, you add a droplet (literally).

And eventually, these water droplets can not stick together any longer and suddenly you are a cup of water and a puddle underneath. The rubber band that seemed to be able to keep stretching snaps. Your overfilled water balloon pops. The magic disappears.

Too often than not we overload ourselves either because we think we will enjoy it, want to impress our future selves or we want to impress others. I have always had a hard time saying, "No." I take on too much of what I love. But what I so often forget is that when something I love becomes a burden on my shoulders, something is wrong.

Overwhelmed is a strange feeling. It's a feeling you don't want to admit to feeling in fear of looking or feeling weak... And unlike most feelings, many times when you're overwhelmed you seem to be the last one to realize it. You become so overwhelmed that in a way, you stop feeling completely, like when you're in the ocean for so long your body adapts to it and you don't even realize how cold you are, and you start drifting.

And after awhile, the cold overwhelming ocean devours you.

But even when oceans start to devour you and your cup begins to spill, remember to stay aware of your surroundings and remember you can always go back for more.

So please, take care of yourself, and keep an eye out for others, too.