The weather today was absolutely disgusting. High 30s and cloudy. I’ve always wondered why hell is fiery because an ice-cold atmosphere seems much worse to me than any level of heat. Anyways, as I was raking the leaves in my front yard, I pondered the same things I’ve been pondering on a daily basis the last few weeks. Why is the cold so much harder for me to handle than the heat? Why does the sun have to set so damn early these next few months? Are there places where the sun doesn’t set this early? Would I be happier living somewhere warmer? Would I want to give up the pretty fall colors and the cozy snow days to live somewhere where I’m not constantly freezing from November to March? Why am I so much sadder in the winter than in the summer?
All I hear from my fellow seniors anymore is “I can’t wait to finally leave this place.”
While most people in my grade are suffering from a bad case of Senioritis, I feel plagued by a different kind of 12th-grade struggle.
For as long as I could remember, the first few weeks of school have been full of pure anxiety. Every year I have an unshakable fear that I’m going to fail all my classes and that I’m not going to have anyone to talk to. Every year, I end up proving myself wrong. My grades end up perfectly fine, and I make some friends in each class. Still, this fear haunts me every time a new school year starts.
This was easily the best summer of my life. Yes there were a few bumps, but I smiled more than I ever have before, so I’m really damn thankful. I could write a long, detailed post about all of that, but music has been a huge part of my summer, and I feel like these songs can do all the explaining I need.
When I think back to the past school year, the most stressful time period was not AP exam season, or finals season, or even cross country season. It was prom season. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy with the way my prom turned out for the most part. Still, I get so stressed thinking about how much energy I put into finding an inexpensive dress, figuring out the transportation situation, and making sure my hair and makeup appointments didn’t overlap. All of the drama that came with these conflicts made me so anxious, and at some points I just wished we never even had a prom.
Accutane. First of all, I took that stupid pill for 9 months, and I still don’t know how to spell the name without googling it. But, I digress.
For those who don’t know, Accutane (medically known as Isotretinoin) is a retinoid medication that treats severe acne. It’s for people who have had little or no success with topical or antibiotic treatments. It’s basically a last resort for acne sufferers since it is known for having really intense side effects.
For months, I imagined what it would feel like to write this post. I thought I would feel a sense of victory and relief. In some ways I do, but I’ve only been off it for a few weeks, and I still have an unshakable worry that the acne will come back. Still, I couldn’t resist making this post. People always ask me if I think this pill is worth it, and I figured I’d save myself some breath by making this post. Obviously, everybody responds to the medication differently, but I hope more than anything that my story can give some clarity to anyone considering taking this medication. I know already that I’m going to jump around a bunch, but I want this to be as raw and honest as possible. So here we go…my accutane story…
For months in my AP Euro class this year, we talked about Versailles. For those who don’t know, Versailles was a residence created by Divine Right Absolutist Louis XIV when he ruled France in the 17th and 18th centuries. It’s basically a palace outside of Paris that was created to restrict the nobility’s power by making them come to him instead of the other way around. It’s gorgeous. It’s one of the many places I was lucky enough to go to this past summer on my trip to Europe with my family.
Let me start by saying this was not my best summer. My love life was all over the place, I spent hours all day doing SAT prep and summer work, and I was just overall miserable. When my family told me we were going to Europe, I was excited but apprehensive because I HATE being away from home. Nevertheless, I boarded the plane that mid-July night wanting to give this trip a chance. I loved the Netherlands and Belgium because we adventured around with my dad’s friend’s family. However, they didn’t come to France with us. My parents and I were left alone exploring all of France, a “problem” that many people would love to face. I, on the other hand, didn’t love this problem. I felt frustrated that my three years of French couldn’t help me figure out this brand new city. My parents were thrilled and loved the sense of adventure, but all I wanted to do was curl up in our tiny hotel room and cry. I blame this on my ungrateful teenage mindset. All I wanted was to go home and pet my best friend’s dog, hang out with the guy I was flirting with, sleep in my own bed, catch up on Netflix-basically just resume my regular teenage activity. I just wanted home! I didn’t bother to read up on the history of any of the places we visited. We only really learned vocabulary and grammar in French class, so the history of these landmarks was pretty hazy to me. I dragged myself through all the museums, taking all the artsy pictures I could, occasionally stopping to read about the painting I was looking at. I was in the historic Louvre, and all I wanted to do was go home! Now, looking back, I’m so ashamed.