I'm writing this as an individual who has not seen the light, or who has not felt the fire- the flame that comes from the very fuel of a happy high school career, with few exceptions.
I'm writing this because every time I am outside of the classroom, I am thousands of miles away from any human contact in my community outside of my household, restricted by what I may "be," and who I may "be." What and who I "am" may turn out to be less than attractive to some individuals, even though I work damn hard to maintain a positive reputation and a sociable mindset and phenotype at school, at home, and everywhere in between.
I say this because there was a very particular instance, on the other side of the country from where I live (Connecticut), that extinguished any self confidence and, quite frankly, emotion that I possessed. It merely slipped through my fingers.
I was on a class trip to Disneyland and the Los Angeles area, so no family was as close to me as those that live in the Chicagoland vicinity, and that is still far away. I was excited to explore a part of the United States that I knew nothing about, a place where magic and good feelings reigned supreme. Unfortunately, this was not the case for me.
It was a trip that spanned five or so days; I am not quite sure how long the trip was due to the nature of me purging every memory I have from my person. I had never been away from my family, at this point in my life, for that long a time, that far from home.
As students, we were organized into groups; first, by roommates. I shared a hotel suite (I was honestly surprised how satisfactory the property was at which we were staying) with three other people, of which I liked; though, I spent little time with them in comparison to another group of people who, as we shall see later, made a difference in my experience drastically.
The second day of our journey (after a night of near-death experiences on ungodly turbulent flights and the fear of lost baggage after a jaunt from New York, to Houston, then to Los Angeles) had laid out a day trip to Disneyland in Anaheim.
The second group into which I was allocated was of a larger number of people who — under my pretenses — were supposed to stay somewhat together. Though, tip his was not the case.
I spent nearly the entirety of the day alone, by myself, at Disneyland.
In fact, I felt so lonely that after four or so hours of wandering Main Street aimlessly, I stopped at Casey's (that might be at Walt Disney World, though I'm not sure; it's not important, whatever eating establishment is near the statue of Walt and Mickey), and I began to cry, sitting at a table in the corner, perfectly situated such that I was able to observe all of the smiling faces, happy couples, and ecstatic groups of students from my own school and others.
I began to cry, and I was so enveloped in what I was doing that I am not sure if my "episode" was audible or not, and if it was, how many people stopped and cast their gaze upon my sad and shriveled figure.
I called my father during this self-reflective ordeal, who was in Connecticut: a seven-hour flight from my location on this great, huge Earth. I'm pretty sure I scared him with what I was saying and how I felt at the happiest place on Earth. Though, what I was saying was not in the least even a slight hyperbole. Everything I spoke was as a result of some raw emotion, some — I could argue — divine "something," though I was never especially moved by religion.
After this terrible (I'm not even going to try to find a better word for this) event, I did the following: I went to Sunglass Hut and purchased a $200 pair of RayBan Aviators that I returned within an hour. Then, after having got my money back, I bought a few Disney items. Some of them were for me, and some were for some girl of which I was "110% sure" I liked. I spent $50 on her. I have no idea why I did such a thing.
Needless to say, for the entirety of the week (or so) I was a wreck in the eyes of someone who actually has friends.
I have been told by my parents that I need to go out and make friends, but what I have not been told is how exactly to do that. In school, I always was (and still am, for the most part) associated as the teacher's pet who has no friends. I haven't even been to a school dance at my high school. My freshman year's dance event was cancelled, and I was not asked by anybody for our sophomore Sadie Hawkins dance. I feel very left out of most, if not all social functions unless they are forcefully initiated by a higher power. All that my parents say is that it will prove to be a problem for me as I grow, though they provide no solutions. It's a bummer.
I don't know, that's all. I just want to see if anyone's on the same boat as me.