The First Day of High School

   One of the many differences between high school and college is the winter break.  High schoolers are lucky if they get two weeks.  College students, however, have to endure at least four weeks at home.  I know many high schoolers think that is the dream. Don't be fooled, a lot of it is smoke and mirrors.  Once you taste the freedom college has to offer, it is hard to be tied back up under a roof shared with your parents.  I know plenty of people who are returning to high school today while I still have two more weeks before my school starts.  All I'm trying to say is: Enjoy high school.  Don't wish your life away.  For me, high school was the best four years of my life.  I don't think I would choose to relive that time, but I am able to look back on those days with fondness. So take it all in; memorize the sound of the front doors opening and the slamming of lockers in between classes.

   Here, take my memory of the first day for inspiration.

   It is the day for which everybody has an idea, but no one really realizes its significance until years later. It is the day that everyone has to face, the day about which some have dreams, some have nightmares: The first day of high school.
   I remember mine like it was yesterday: walking through the intimidating double doors, carrying my new lunch box stuffed with goodies from Mom, not knowing a soul. I walked into the cafeteria and saw all the upperclassmen saying their hellos to everyone they did not see over the summer. Across the room, I recognized a girl who had been in my third grade class. Sure, that was over five years ago, but it was something. I wrestled through the terrifying crowd, careful not to step on anybody’s toes. I said hello, and thankfully she knew who I was and gave me a half hug. She, of course, knew multiple people and brought me over to her table of friends to introduce me.
   I sat down and looked at the girl sitting across from me. She had plain brown hair, a pretty face, and wore a sleek pair of black bifocals. She smiled a huge smile and said, “Hello! I’m Rachel!” Then suddenly her face became really serious.  She leaned towards me and asked, “Do you like hockey?” Completely baffled, I just smiled at her. My former classmate told her, “This is Jillianne. Rachel, don’t scare her. She went to PCA (the snooty prep school in the neighboring town) last year.”
   Rachel sighed with understanding and said, “That’s too bad.” Then a boy carrying a breakfast tray came and sat down next to her. Rachel smiled at him and enthusiastically said, “Peter! I’m so happy to see you!” She motioned at me, “This is my new friend, Jillianne!” He gave me a casual smile, and I gave him one back. They continued to chat while Rachel continued to badger me with completely random questions. She asked, “Jillianne, do you watch The Bachelorette?” I shook my head no. She sighed and looked at Peter, “We love watching The Bachelorette, don’t we Peter?” He just continued to eat his breakfast. She looked back at me and said, “I kissed him once, you know.” Peter blushed and just shook his head giving me a look that just said, “I’m sorry.”
   These people were just strangers to me. I did not expect to have any classes with them. Of course, what did I know?  The girl who had asked me about The Bachelorette and the thin boy eating his breakfast would soon become two of the biggest influences my life has ever known.


*End Note: These two people did have a serious impact on the person I am today. However, neither of them are in my present life.  I would call that a curse and a blessing.

This Has Nothing To Do With Kayaking

   Forgive the blunt title, but I don't know how else to say it. And I wanted to make it clear before you read this and say, "What the hell?"  This post is not going to be as linear as the others.  It's going to be more of a stream of consciousness, so excuse me because I'm basically going to be rambling. 

   I am starting to think that I am going to start using this blog for telling stories about things other than kayaking.  I mean, of course stories about the yak will still be told.. but, maybe I could talk about other things, too.  That would make this blog less of a brand and sort of become more of a movement and much more personal than it has been.  I know I have shown emotion in previous posts and written about terribly sad things and such, but I mean I could talk about the real stuff if I wanted to. 

   Maybe I should give you some context here.  Two years ago it was suggested to me that I could have depression.  I laughed at the idea because it was so obvious.  People who don't have depression don't spend their nights begging that spirit in the sky to take them away, and then wake up disappointed when they're still here.  So yeah, I was depressed.  

   I like to think that I am a rather content person.  I am not fidgety and I don't treat my phone like an IV.  I am more than willing to lie in the grass for hours and watch the clouds roll by.  I do not get bored and I love a companion's company.  I am perfectly capable of being able to just be.  And for a while I thought that meant that I was happy.  Because, shouldn't contentment and happiness be the same thing?  Maybe it is more important to be content than it is to be happy; or maybe you need one to have the other.  I don't know anymore.  

   The thing people have to understand about depression is that it is not an easy fix.  The key to pulling oneself out of the dark is not the same for everyone and it is not the same key every time.  You can get yourself to happy times, but that same trick won't do it for you the next time.  After time and time of doing this, you can imagine how the motivation can disappear.  I was in better days for a while, long enough for me to get the crazy idea that it could stay like that.  Then one day I found myself with my x-acto knife pressed against my leg.  The shear fact that I was doing it scared me and I called my friend at 2 o'clock in the morning to meet me in my car.  We sat there for hours saying things that I didn't even know were inside of me and I cried and cried until I truly couldn't cry anymore.  I had my head pressed against the window and I remember looking over at her and seeing that she was crying more than I was.  I smiled a weak smile at her and said, "Please don't cry.  It's going to be okay."  She cried even more and said, "You're not the one who should be saying that right now."  When I told her I didn't know what to do, she gave the simple answer: Do what you did last time.  Oh, simple and sweet friend.  If only it was that easy.

   Depression is scary because it can morph so easily.  It lies to you and there is nothing worse than having something inside you that makes you believe you're better off dead.  You can be in the clear one moment and then drowning in the darkness the next moment.  Something like that does not have a simple solution.  You can't take a pill and call it a day.  They have medicines, yes, but all they do is compress the feeling.  You can still say "I want to die," but when you try to act on it, it feels like someone or something is holding you back.  Maybe that's not the worst thing, but it isn't good when you actually need to show emotion.  Emotion isn't a bad thing when it's not trying to kill you.  The medicine also compresses happiness.  You can still say "This is so fun, I want to smile," but something is holding you back.  

   Depression is also scary because it can make you feel badly for feeling badly.  It makes you feel selfish and whiney.  I have a wonderful family who loves me, wonderful friends who make me laugh, a wonderful boyfriend who accepts me for the toddler I am, and a wonderful cat who is always happy to see me.  But that doesn't mean I am happy.  I appreciate all of the wonderful things my life has been blessed with, but I do not appreciate the demon inside of me that thinks all of those things would be happier without me.  Depression lies.  And it is ruthless.  And it will spin something beautiful into something gray and lifeless.  

   When I found myself crying in my car at 3 in the morning, I don't know if I was more upset over the things I was saying, or the fact that I was upset again.  After I spent so much time putting myself together again.  Imagine if the king's horses and men did put Humpty Dumpty back together again.  They spent years gluing him back together, piece by piece and shard by shard.  When they finally finished, they rejoiced and celebrated! Can you believe it? They accomplished an impossible task.  But then, someone tripped and poor Humpty Dumpty fell to his death once again.  The horses and men stood, looking at the chips by their feet with their mouths hung open.  The idea of spending all of that time again had no luster at all.  But would it be worth it?  Or should they just go home and call it a day?

   

   Maybe #BackOnTheYak could be a metaphor of sorts.  Kind of like the phrase: Back on the wagon.  I'll post updates: happy ones and sad ones.  The ultimate goal is to get back on the yak.  That could be the yak, literally, or a different one.  The yak being a place of original and pure happiness.  Because I'd really like to get back there..