My journey through Catholic school continued into high school. I actually shadowed to get into a nicer co-ed Catholic school but of course my academic scores were too low to get in (lol homework). I also attempted to get into a larger public school and was denied for the same reason. I really didn’t care though honestly. I wanted out. Eventually, I was recommended to go to an all boys school. Yes that’s right, a Catholic high school that started its transition to co-ed in 2002. I was the first graduating co-ed class. The ratio of boys to girls was at least 5:1. I was ok with this; I didn’t really have a good experience with “girlfriends” and was more comfortable around the guys. I had more common ground with video games, music, anime, technology. Plus, this was a trade or “tech” school. This experience was one of a kind, and in hindsight, I didn’t keep what real friends I had… because I couldn’t tell the difference.

Welcome to the jungle

Freshman. Orientation day, 2002. What was cool about the uniforms at this school, was that skirts weren’t required. I got to wear pants and a blouse all the time. They even had casual light cotton sweaters and fleeces, which I opted to wear even in summer. It’s not that I hated skirts, but I was (and am/always have been) more comfortable with long pants and a blouse. I didn’t wear any make-up, and kept my long hair in a pony tail at all times. There were the usual get-together in the gym type activities. They were okay. Surprisingly, class sizes were only slightly larger – going from a individual classes of 15 students to 25. Nevertheless, the gym was packed with at least 1,000 students, 30% of which were in my graduating class. The school opted to go co-ed in order to stay open and survive, basically. They would have taken anyone had they paid the tuition.

At lunch I was drawn to a group of guys that met a superficial nerd stereotype, one of which I came to like very quickly. Within the first weeks I nervously asked if a girl would talk to him for me. She said he said ensued. I was informed he wasn’t interested. This hurt me more than usual. I kept interest, but moved on. There were also a few girls that seemed to cling to me for some reason. They approached me as if I knew something they didn’t. I wasn’t really shy or anything, and “went with the flow”. I opted into theater for extracurricular and French as a language. We had masses, but they took place in the gym, the school had no formal church. It was old, the architecture dated, hardly any A/C. For masses, the girls were asked to wear skirts, but could get “skorts” which I opted into. They weren’t that terrible looking to me, and I always wore tights anyway. The guys were required to wear ties. Many would forget theirs, or not know how to tie them. I knew how to tie a tie, and offered to tie them for any guy struggling. A few would learn to come up and ask me for help those days. I thought it harmless.

The first pregnancy was within 5 or 6 months of the school year from what I remember. Also, one of the girls I spoke with regularly confided in me; she had an abortion, and was scared, and may not be able to have children again. My gym teacher was a young woman in her late 20s who saw my previous athletic experience and wanted me to spearhead her girls volleyball team. Rumor had it she was raped and kept the baby. I had a lot of respect for her, but I declined. After my rejection, I had come to like the theater crowd, which was mostly the older junior guys. It was a “welcoming” crowd. Even though “he” rejected me, we still were close… I played video games with him in the library computers, which got us both in trouble.

Ignorance is bliss

Sophomore year, 2003. Gym class was early in the morning. I hated it. Wearing the typical sweatpants and shirt, we ran laps. My older sister was taking hair styling more seriously and liked to experiment on my hair. She had bleached it before, blonde highlights striking through the default dark brown hair. She stripped all of my hair this time, and died my hair a deeply saturated blood/wine red. It wasn’t BRIGHT red red, but dark and shimmered in the light. A new guy in my class actually loudly pronounced from the second floor below me that “I looked hot”. That was a first, made me blush, and I could do nothing but look away. I wasn’t exactly opposed to the compliment though. It wasn’t the last. I was also of course excelling in art classes, but I’d still often doodle the odd Dragon Ball Z Trunks or Vegeta. Which… also drew a lot of guy attention. I thought it was nice to find some guys who liked the same stuff I did. For some reason they didn’t stay around very long though.

There was a girl that did genuinely notice me for my interests. She wanted to start an anime club. She was teased a lot. Maybe it’s because she wasn’t… the prettiest? She wore make up, but applied it poorly. We talked about anime a lot. I met with her and two other girls at lunch often. However, social pressures had denied me what should have been a genuine friendship with her. The class was relentless. It’s not something I stood idly by for. I walked into the bathroom and saw her, verge of tears, fumbling with her hair in front of the mirror. Someone had thrown gum in her hair. I didn’t hesitate to help her and gently pried it from her hair. I made an effort to hang out with her an a few other “outsider” girls that year. Even then, I realized I was between two crowds… I watched a guy with a master key to the locks swap the lock on her locker. Everyone was laughing and calling her crazy. I knew who did it. I didn’t say anything. He was friends with the guy I liked. She transferred that year.

I started to wear makeup, or try. I always used dark eye shadow and mascara, but never eyeliner or an eye pencil. I didn’t know how. In the bathroom one day, one of the more outspoken and popular girls walked up to me and plainly said “you’re so pretty but you need to use eyeliner, you do it like this” she showed me how, and did it for me. That pretty much cemented me as an “alternative” girl. After all, I did have a Slipknot backpack that year. That conversation starter eventually got me in with the “wrong” group. I experimented with drugs, and started to forget the guy I liked. I was getting more friends and attention from theater kids and smoking after school. I consoled a senior who had smoked a join laced with PCP on accident. He was freaking out bad, but I let him lean on me until he calmed down. A lot of guys seemed to trust me like this. I hung out with them often, and I accepted dates with a guy without really realizing what was going on. He liked to watch anime with me, we liked the same medieval renaissance stuff. I never… wanted anything sexual though. It felt wrong. This wasn’t me. It felt like he was trying to do things I liked on purpose. I was a kissless virgin. After two weeks, he was with another girl without notice. I had still grown close to him and was considering things, who am I kidding though I guess I “lead him on”. The guy I had calmed down from PCP handed me a cigarette when he saw me a bit more depressed than usual. I really miss him. He was a Senior and graduated that same year. I hit the next downward spiral. The alternative kids were my scene now. I was doing some pretty questionable things by getting into parked cars in front of the school and doing drug deals. I’d share some weed and a Newport with strangers of all sorts alone often.

Most of the dealers were gang related (unsurprisingly, this was an inner city school). Many were suspended and caught selling. I had met a nice guy (who I wish I kept up with) that got me into music and out of some bad situations. This was a group of “family” shared between local schools. Yes, by “family” I do mean the common “Juggalo”. My red hair and dark makeup had me fitting in no problem (more on music exploration later). I enjoyed the gatherings, as much of a blur as they were. The time outside, walking the city blocks smoking in a crowded public neighborhood – these are some of my fondest memories. To this day, I would say this time was the “happiest” of depressive creativity. I became so focused on art that I wanted to become a tattoo artist, drawing fine lined intricate designs of celtic weaves, sharp lined tribal dragons, skulls, spiders, bat wings. I burned incense, had two tarot decks… this had to be me.

Obsession, addiction, escapism

Since my grades were constantly low, I had to take summer school every year I attended high school. It was brutal, but an excuse to be out of the house and to continue my ventures with strangers and cigarettes. The high school hosted summer school for students from all over, so I met new dealers pretty easily. This summer in particular, I met a similar group of girls that I would chill with after class in the park. They offered me clove cigarettes which I really enjoyed. I kind of just kept floating between different social groups. I went to small scale alternative concerts for local bands with them, even got free drinks sometimes. For the first time in my life, I was approached to go on a date. One of the girls asked me out. I had never seen this coming. Realization hit me pretty hard. Flattered, I politely declined. I started to question everyone I had met. I hollowed and grew cold toward everyone. Was that all I was? Is that all I am?

Junior year, 2004. Loneliness weighed heavier than ever, a constant pressure on my chest. I didn’t speak much to anyone. Video games at home were my only escape. I played the GameCube alone constantly. A few of my sisters “boys” (there were several) stopped by and wanted to play, too. It was a rude awakening for them when it came to Soul Calibur II, but more on that another time… I reconnected with the guy I liked… the one from freshman year. Somehow, we shared a few classes. I joined chess club at his suggestion, and had a pretty strong starting game. I couldn’t see that far ahead though. I was tied to console games, but he introduced me to a LAN center near by. I learned about Steam, Counter Strike. I went here often after school to play Counter Strike with a group of guys. I remember seeing someone play World of Warcraft. He sunk knowledge into me about Star Craft, Warcraft III, and I was fascinated with the gameplay and the lore. I stopped buying drugs. I stopped smoking. Eventually, after speaking on AIM (yes AOL Instant Messenger) for a while I confessed that I had liked him for a long time. He said the same. And so the story goes. Who I thought I was, completely wiped out. I completely immersed myself. I played alongside him in every game. Lineage II, World of Warcraft. There was a guild. Other friends at school played, too. We raided Molten Core. He was my world. I was obsessed. I was addicted. Not just to the game – but to him. A major extent of that year was a complete lust filled disregard for reality.

My grandmother died of lung cancer that year. I witnessed her deteriorate within weeks. The state of her prior to death in the hospital is burned into my mind. It was horrific. I will spare you the details. I watched my younger cousins ask their mom “when will she be back”. My aunt snapped at them, “she’s not coming back she’s dead”. My aunt is an ER doc. She cared for her mother, my grandmother, as she slowly died in her home. It didn’t matter though, I had him. One of the “outlier” girls I had spoken with at lunch about anime, her mother died that year. Another case of cancer. I attended the small ceremony with her in the adjacent chapel. I was sad for her. I wasn’t crying like I was when I was younger though. It didn’t matter, I had him.

My vision continued to narrow. I took the SAT, or whatever – I don’t remember my score. It didn’t matter because I had him. I had World of Warcraft. I loved every moment. That’s the only thing that mattered to me. We were around each other for what felt like years. He got involved with theater with me. I played at the LAN center with him all the time. There simply was no one else anymore. Social groups I did have, I simply vanished from. This was a sickness, this was mania. And I was aware of it the whole time. I knew this wasn’t “forever”. Even so, I consciously waded deep into the ocean and drowned myself in this euphoria. I didn’t know who I was, and it didn’t matter.

What else is there?

Senior year, 2005. My art classes never stopped, and I was extremely seasoned at this point. I completed a full body portrait of a student within 45 minutes (the trade school had longer class blocks than usual). I had tampered with every fine art medium. I liked water colors and pencils the most. My art teacher pressured me. This was the year that students started to look into college. I visited with a well known college deep downtown, I think they offered me a scholarship for my work. But my grades were just bad. I declined. I didn’t want to make the effort. I went with my boyfriend to a convention (trap) of universities to look into. I let him speak with his friends about it. I wasn’t really interested. My boyfriend had also introduced me to unix based systems, debian, window managers, things of that nature. I knew that would be his goal.

After some drama in game, I stopped playing World of Warcraft. It was rather embarrassing of me, admittedly I was selfish. My account was stripped bare-bones and everything sold. In spite of that, he was still with me. When I visited, he was more focused on school work. I would play games in his room, or draw. He told me about going to some kind of club? I wasn’t really sure what it was all about, but I thought nothing of it. I remember though, distinctly in passing, the look from another girl – even though I was next to him, she locked eyes with him. I was still seeing him regularly, but distance grew. I was in denial. I realized I was being cut off, and I confronted him about it. He didn’t want to be with me anymore. I was crushed. My world came crashing down. I was in complete disarray the rest of the year. It was torture to share classes with him. After school, I bought cigarettes (you could at that age before).

My identity shattered. I had made it him my identity. But now? Decades later, it makes sense. I know now, I was using him in all the worst ways. The rest of the year was torture. I could not contain my sadness. I started to steal alcohol. I started to stay up late alone watching anime deep into the night. I got detention for being late. I skipped a final. My sister took me out to bars, her connections with older guys got us in under age. I knew I was being used as an object. She encouraged me to participate in amateur strip clubs as an ego boost. I could make so much money. My self confidence was at an all time low, and I could never bring myself to. I tried cocaine. I numbed myself as much as I could. Somehow, I graduated. And it was torture. I could talk with no one. I had no social circle. My theater teacher wasn’t there anymore. The other boys graduated. Everyone had to know my situation. There was no question the face of depression was on me at all times. I went to the LAN center alone. I didn’t want to walk at my graduation. But I did. And I was glad it was over. That’s it, that’s all. I knew this would happen after all. Like I always did, I reset. This time, I never really restarted. This time, I could not repair myself. I condemned myself to my parents basement.

There’s too much to tell here. The stories are a blur. I am not quite sure what year is which. I used to blog on Xanga. All the guys that I thought were good friends would brag to me about their girlfriends to me, like it was all some kind of spite or revenge. It felt like I was just a trophy to be won, an object, a sexual pursuit. Even after I graduated, I tried to stay friends with some of the guys. It all ended the same. How stupid is that? I thought myself cursed. I just wanted to chill and smoke weed and game. How many guys did I really shoot down? How many guys did I actually lead on? Hindsight is certainly 20/20. I still get sad about it. Things could have been so different had I been stable, emotionally mature. My friends, they were online. They had nicknames, and that’s all I knew. Faith, if present, was gone.