They say your high school years are some of the more difficult times in a young person’s life. And for me, that was absolutely true. But no one prepared me for the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure since being born: driving past my old high school.
I thought you could only get PTSD if you went to war. Boy, was I wrong. Trauma can come from anywhere. Who knew that a trip to my favorite frozen yogurt place on winter break would force me to drive past my old high school which I graduated from a whopping three years ago. Not me. I even saw the security guard Rick who used to tell me when it was okay to cross the street. This is so fucked up.
No one seems to understand what an emotional toll seeing the giant concrete building where I got low Bs and wore weird tee shirts had on me. When I got back to my childhood home, I was shaking and told my dad about my horrible encounter with my old high school. He said, “You should have gone in and said hi to your teachers!” I should have what now? The drive-by gave me enough anxiety for a lifetime. I don’t need to go say hi to Mrs. Curtis who once called me “you should be working harder.” Thanks, but no thanks, dad.
I thought I could shake it off by remembering that the college I go to now is great and that I actually sort of understand the classes I’m taking. But it wasn’t that easy. My psyche was totally ruined just from seeing my old high school. Worst of all, my school looked good. Fuck my school for treating me so badly by giving me just okay grades and no lasting memories. I spent all my time in you and you literally have the audacity to still exist without my passion for literally no subject except lunch? No way.
To all the people out there who’ve driven past their high schools and been traumatized even though they were students there extremely recently and nothing that remarkable happened to them there, I want you to know: I hear you. I see your pain. I lived it too. I hope you’re happy, Glendale View High. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have frozen yogurt again.