Just when I was beginning to think, “Man, I actually know myself pretty well,” I was stricken with a depressive episode large enough to make me completely dysfunctional in everyday life… two weeks before the last three AP Exams of my high school career.
I’ve been functionally depressed for the entirety of high school (and maybe some of middle school also). My family life left me with scars deeper than I will probably ever know, my friendships continually fell apart without me knowing why, and I wasn’t recognized for my talents or accomplishments---on the contrary, they were treated as a burden. Stuck on a pendulum, swinging between “You can soar even higher” and “You’re the biggest tryhard I’ve ever met” (which is code for: “You make me feel inadequate because I don’t see the struggles you go through on a daily basis”), I began questioning the worth of my own existence. Yes, Ms. Rago’s statistic includes me: I was one of those teenagers who suffered from a major depressive episode in 2022 (and 2020, 2021, 2023, and now 2024).
It wasn’t apparent to me that I was worth anything, and as a result, I desperately needed a way to prove my worth. My looks? Average. My style? Mid. My brain? Big.
So I leaned into academic validation as a way to show that I did, in fact, matter. (Here’s where I deliver a very big f*** you to everyone who’s called me a tryhard in the past six years.) The problem is that I was depressed, which, as you may know, has this one really annoying symptom: lack of motivation.
So, during freshman year (the COVID year), I sat at home on my couch at three in the morning, feeding into my (homemade) hot chocolate hyperfixation and doing my AP World History homework. During sophomore year, my sweet tooth was quelled by the alarmingly addictive taste of my newly acquired romantic relationship. Junior year, the craving was Dunkin’ Donuts hot chocolate. This year, it’s a vanilla Culver’s concrete with hot fudge, salted caramel, and pecans.
Motivation spilled out in buckets once I had “a little treat,” whether that be a hot chocolate, a date with my boyfriend, or frozen custard. It’s only natural that I would develop a dependence on these “little treats” every time I entered into a new episode.
Unfortunately, I only realized this just now, after I bought a Dunkin’ hot chocolate (two pumps caramel) in order to bribe myself into studying for my AP Micro exam.
As I struggle with this bout of “senioritis”---AKA, a sudden lack of motivation amongst previously hard-working seniors, especially after they commit to a college and start to believe that high school no longer matters---that’s made my depression about 10 times worse, I’ve begun to wonder something: did I ever really like school in the first place?
The short answer: no one likes school. If you’re interested in the long answer, keep reading.
I love learning. Most people love learning. In fact, many of us would be majorly suicidal if we had to sit under a rock every day, confined only to our own experiences, unaware of the wide mouth of the world swallowing us up day by day. The problem with the American education system is that it was structured around a capitalist system built up on racist principles. Basically, we never had a chance in hell of actually liking it because it wasn’t for us to like. It was created to give us all shared principles, shared loyalties, and shared skills that would make us both productive and subservient in the workforce.
Yet, especially in the context of Brooks, one of the most high-achieving schools in the state of Illinois and the city of Chicago, the rules have been twisted. No, the goalpost hasn’t been moved: we’re still being molded into the same worker bees as we have been for generations. But the culture around school, this idea of being the best in something---anything!---has caused us to shoot our sense of self-worth right in the foot.
Brooks, for the past six years, and likely for years before that, has been one big popularity contest with a boxing ring smack dab in the middle to showcase the frankly ridiculous bullying problem that the toxicity of perfectionism has created. People take on more roles than they can realistically devote themselves to in order to earn the praise of administration and the admiration of their peers. They push themselves to the brink, staying up late and refusing to (and perhaps unable to) practice self-care until they’re literally unable to do so any longer.
They humble brag, compare themselves to others, and belittle themselves and their peers all in the name of competition---after all, whoever can prove themselves to be the best gets bragging rights for the few short years that we’re actually in the building. And maybe, if they’re lucky, their hard work will reap benefits beyond high school, and they’ll get into an Ivy League or perhaps win the Gates Scholarship, and then all will be right with the world.
Not to say that the administration isn’t trying their best, though! Surely, if they knew more about the mental health of their students---if their students spoke up more---they would make an effort to help us. So why don’t we speak up? Likely, because all of us know someone who did and was relentlessly bullied for it. Likely, some of us were the bullies. I know I wasn’t, but I also know who was.
I struggle to fathom the notion that high school will contain four of the best years of my life. If that’s the case, I must be in store for a particularly awful life, because high school freaking sucked.
Is this a vent piece? Kinda, but also, no. I have a few suggestions for the adults reading this. As much as I may shout, “Let these kids suffer, as I did,” I won’t actually leave them to feel as much shame for being themselves, and for being kids, as I did.
First off, you all need to do better at protecting the privacy of students who actually report issues. I know, a big ask (can you sense the sarcasm?). If a student is reporting an assault or an incident of bullying, the last thing they need is for their bullies to find out and begin targeting them. I know so many people who have been victims of smear campaigns from students who have nothing better to do than degrade their character, all because they reported that they had a problem with a classmate.
I don’t know how many times this needs to be said, but kids are mean. Not fully by choice, not because they’re bad people, but because they lack filters, yet only possess half-developed consciences.
And people talk. Word spreads. Judgment gets passed around way before solutions are even found for the student’s original problem. And just like that, you’ve created an entire class of students who refuse to report mistreatment, all because they know what happened to “that one kid” who was courageous enough to do so.
Secondly, learn names and use them. It feels so incredibly demeaning to be met with unfamiliarity by people who control your grades or lecture you about attending SAT prep classes. At the very least, you should know the people you work with regularly. If you don’t, you need to put in more effort.
Third, find affordable mental health services for students, or at the very least, find mental health services for students that don’t involve Ms. Tillman. One woman can’t counsel 1,000 kids. You don’t ask the academic counselors to do this, so don’t ask her to. It’s not possible, and it only leaves kids more frustrated than they were, to begin with.
And finally, that survey? You know that survey that gets sent out biannually that people never fill out, which prevents you from actually being able to access the results? Have the teachers make it a grade. Incorporate it into class time. Do something. Because at the end of the day, if you don’t have feedback from your students, you don’t have anything. Asking students to do a voluntary survey in their free time when you’ve placed emphasis on a course load riddled with APs and honors classes is an ask that you should know will be met with resounding silence. So, stop making it voluntary. (Sorry underclassmen, but this one’s for you. Do the survey.)
I am a tired, bitter senior whose entire Brooks experience has been tainted by people treating me as if I wasn’t worthy of respect and kindness. Surely, someone in a position of power at this school will read this and feel enough empathy to at least attempt to enact some changes.
I’ve been functionally depressed for the entirety of high school (and maybe some of middle school also). My family life left me with scars deeper than I will probably ever know, my friendships continually fell apart without me knowing why, and I wasn’t recognized for my talents or accomplishments---on the contrary, they were treated as a burden. Stuck on a pendulum, swinging between “You can soar even higher” and “You’re the biggest tryhard I’ve ever met” (which is code for: “You make me feel inadequate because I don’t see the struggles you go through on a daily basis”), I began questioning the worth of my own existence. Yes, Ms. Rago’s statistic includes me: I was one of those teenagers who suffered from a major depressive episode in 2022 (and 2020, 2021, 2023, and now 2024).
It wasn’t apparent to me that I was worth anything, and as a result, I desperately needed a way to prove my worth. My looks? Average. My style? Mid. My brain? Big.
So I leaned into academic validation as a way to show that I did, in fact, matter. (Here’s where I deliver a very big f*** you to everyone who’s called me a tryhard in the past six years.) The problem is that I was depressed, which, as you may know, has this one really annoying symptom: lack of motivation.
So, during freshman year (the COVID year), I sat at home on my couch at three in the morning, feeding into my (homemade) hot chocolate hyperfixation and doing my AP World History homework. During sophomore year, my sweet tooth was quelled by the alarmingly addictive taste of my newly acquired romantic relationship. Junior year, the craving was Dunkin’ Donuts hot chocolate. This year, it’s a vanilla Culver’s concrete with hot fudge, salted caramel, and pecans.
Motivation spilled out in buckets once I had “a little treat,” whether that be a hot chocolate, a date with my boyfriend, or frozen custard. It’s only natural that I would develop a dependence on these “little treats” every time I entered into a new episode.
Unfortunately, I only realized this just now, after I bought a Dunkin’ hot chocolate (two pumps caramel) in order to bribe myself into studying for my AP Micro exam.
As I struggle with this bout of “senioritis”---AKA, a sudden lack of motivation amongst previously hard-working seniors, especially after they commit to a college and start to believe that high school no longer matters---that’s made my depression about 10 times worse, I’ve begun to wonder something: did I ever really like school in the first place?
The short answer: no one likes school. If you’re interested in the long answer, keep reading.
I love learning. Most people love learning. In fact, many of us would be majorly suicidal if we had to sit under a rock every day, confined only to our own experiences, unaware of the wide mouth of the world swallowing us up day by day. The problem with the American education system is that it was structured around a capitalist system built up on racist principles. Basically, we never had a chance in hell of actually liking it because it wasn’t for us to like. It was created to give us all shared principles, shared loyalties, and shared skills that would make us both productive and subservient in the workforce.
Yet, especially in the context of Brooks, one of the most high-achieving schools in the state of Illinois and the city of Chicago, the rules have been twisted. No, the goalpost hasn’t been moved: we’re still being molded into the same worker bees as we have been for generations. But the culture around school, this idea of being the best in something---anything!---has caused us to shoot our sense of self-worth right in the foot.
Brooks, for the past six years, and likely for years before that, has been one big popularity contest with a boxing ring smack dab in the middle to showcase the frankly ridiculous bullying problem that the toxicity of perfectionism has created. People take on more roles than they can realistically devote themselves to in order to earn the praise of administration and the admiration of their peers. They push themselves to the brink, staying up late and refusing to (and perhaps unable to) practice self-care until they’re literally unable to do so any longer.
They humble brag, compare themselves to others, and belittle themselves and their peers all in the name of competition---after all, whoever can prove themselves to be the best gets bragging rights for the few short years that we’re actually in the building. And maybe, if they’re lucky, their hard work will reap benefits beyond high school, and they’ll get into an Ivy League or perhaps win the Gates Scholarship, and then all will be right with the world.
Not to say that the administration isn’t trying their best, though! Surely, if they knew more about the mental health of their students---if their students spoke up more---they would make an effort to help us. So why don’t we speak up? Likely, because all of us know someone who did and was relentlessly bullied for it. Likely, some of us were the bullies. I know I wasn’t, but I also know who was.
I struggle to fathom the notion that high school will contain four of the best years of my life. If that’s the case, I must be in store for a particularly awful life, because high school freaking sucked.
Is this a vent piece? Kinda, but also, no. I have a few suggestions for the adults reading this. As much as I may shout, “Let these kids suffer, as I did,” I won’t actually leave them to feel as much shame for being themselves, and for being kids, as I did.
First off, you all need to do better at protecting the privacy of students who actually report issues. I know, a big ask (can you sense the sarcasm?). If a student is reporting an assault or an incident of bullying, the last thing they need is for their bullies to find out and begin targeting them. I know so many people who have been victims of smear campaigns from students who have nothing better to do than degrade their character, all because they reported that they had a problem with a classmate.
I don’t know how many times this needs to be said, but kids are mean. Not fully by choice, not because they’re bad people, but because they lack filters, yet only possess half-developed consciences.
And people talk. Word spreads. Judgment gets passed around way before solutions are even found for the student’s original problem. And just like that, you’ve created an entire class of students who refuse to report mistreatment, all because they know what happened to “that one kid” who was courageous enough to do so.
Secondly, learn names and use them. It feels so incredibly demeaning to be met with unfamiliarity by people who control your grades or lecture you about attending SAT prep classes. At the very least, you should know the people you work with regularly. If you don’t, you need to put in more effort.
Third, find affordable mental health services for students, or at the very least, find mental health services for students that don’t involve Ms. Tillman. One woman can’t counsel 1,000 kids. You don’t ask the academic counselors to do this, so don’t ask her to. It’s not possible, and it only leaves kids more frustrated than they were, to begin with.
And finally, that survey? You know that survey that gets sent out biannually that people never fill out, which prevents you from actually being able to access the results? Have the teachers make it a grade. Incorporate it into class time. Do something. Because at the end of the day, if you don’t have feedback from your students, you don’t have anything. Asking students to do a voluntary survey in their free time when you’ve placed emphasis on a course load riddled with APs and honors classes is an ask that you should know will be met with resounding silence. So, stop making it voluntary. (Sorry underclassmen, but this one’s for you. Do the survey.)
I am a tired, bitter senior whose entire Brooks experience has been tainted by people treating me as if I wasn’t worthy of respect and kindness. Surely, someone in a position of power at this school will read this and feel enough empathy to at least attempt to enact some changes.
If not, I leave my underclassmen with this:
All of us are or have been losers. Literally all of us. And if you don’t believe me, you’re wrong and you just don’t know it yet.
By "losers," I mean that some of the key components of teenagerism are being unappreciative, unforgiving, and lacking emotional maturity.
So don’t feel bad for being a little bit of an a**hole to your peers (unless you’re already a senior. You’ve had four years to get it together). Just be better. Be Brooks.
My bad. What I’m trying to say is:
When you get into those disagreements with your friends or classmates, when you see your friend talking badly about someone who seems to already be having a bad day, when you find yourself ready to snap at the first person who speaks to you because you’re already having a bad day, do me a favor and think about it.
For real. Use your brains.
And when you make those complex connections like I know you can, take a better course of action. You’re better than you think you are. Way better.
All of us are or have been losers. Literally all of us. And if you don’t believe me, you’re wrong and you just don’t know it yet.
By "losers," I mean that some of the key components of teenagerism are being unappreciative, unforgiving, and lacking emotional maturity.
So don’t feel bad for being a little bit of an a**hole to your peers (unless you’re already a senior. You’ve had four years to get it together). Just be better. Be Brooks.
My bad. What I’m trying to say is:
When you get into those disagreements with your friends or classmates, when you see your friend talking badly about someone who seems to already be having a bad day, when you find yourself ready to snap at the first person who speaks to you because you’re already having a bad day, do me a favor and think about it.
For real. Use your brains.
And when you make those complex connections like I know you can, take a better course of action. You’re better than you think you are. Way better.
Good luck with the rest of your years in high school, which will undoubtedly be sorrowful without my presence every day (or… most days lol), and as my mom tells me every morning: go be great.
It’s been real. (And I think this is my opportunity to piss off the rest of BALM and do something that I’ve told them multiple times not to do---) Trinity out!
It’s been real. (And I think this is my opportunity to piss off the rest of BALM and do something that I’ve told them multiple times not to do---) Trinity out!
