The End of Freedom

Close your eyes and imagine a large brick industrial-like building, lacking a decent amount of windows. As you enter through the dirty glass doors of this unwelcoming piece of architecture, you see young people with exhausted expressions on their faces. They walk hastily through the narrow halls with 10 pound bags upon their backs, because they know if they are late, harsh disciplinary actions will be taken against them.  For sometimes more than 8 hours, these young adults are trapped in the confines of this depressing facility. They are left day-dreaming of the day when they finally may be freed to go out and live their lives.

I am not talking about a juvenile detention facility or some bizarre cult. I am talking about something called high school, something I am positive you all have been forced to experience.

In 3 weeks, the freedom of summer vacation will draw to an end and for the next 9 months I will be given the demining title of a student. By law, it is mandatory for adolescents my age to attend this dreaded institution day in and day out. For more than a third of my day, I will be forced to listen to teachers drone on and on, and to watch as my immature peers discuss very “important” topics like who’s dating who or how much they adore One Direction. Doesn’t that sound just absolutely wonderful?

Yeah, I know. It sucks.

I think one of the main reasons I despise school so much is because of my experiences last year. You see, the damn school psychologist caught be exercising in a bathroom stall (yes, I realize that was a dumb idea) and ever since then, I feel like I’ve been watched like a hawk. I’m pretty sure all of my teachers were told last year about my eating disorder after that incident and that was obviously something I wanted to keep hidden. You know, it was my freshman year! All I wanted was to start off with a clean slate! In middle school, EVERYONE knew I had an eating disorder and I can’t even begin to describe in words how much I hated that. I felt so singled out, so isolated, so alien. I guess though I should’ve remembered this before I started doing jumping jacks where people go number 2. If I would have actually used my brain, maybe I would have figured out that if anyone caught me it would raise a couple of red flags.

Well, that’s what going on in my “dandy dysfunctional” mind right now. I wish there was a way (other than swallowing a few anti-anxiety meds) I could forget that fact school is drawing near so I can enjoy whatever short bits of freedom I have left. . . .

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