While cleaning my room today, I stumbled across binders filled with high school memories. I wasn’t going to look at them, but I somehow ended up with my legs crossed on the floor, sifting through pages and pages of things I’d forgotten about.
In one of them, I found literally dozens of certificates and awards.
Arianna — Most Likely to Succeed
_Arianna — Congratulations on your outstanding copy writing! _
_Arianna — Sterling Scholar Finalist _
_Arianna — National Honor Society — 4 Years in a Row _
_Arianna — Presidential Award for Outstanding Academic Achievement _
I ended up fighting tears and shoving those binders into a corner. The old me would be so disappointed.
It seems stupid, but I put so much effort into getting those papers and so much weight on them when I received them. When I looked at those tonight, I saw part of my soul, and I realized that the younger me would have been devastated to see her 3.9 drop to a 3.5, her hard-earned achievements tossed aside like they were worth nothing. Back then, that’s the only thing I had to hang on to. That and my stories. They were my credentials, my only source of confidence that was hard to come by.
And now I opened up one of my eleventh grade journals.
“Things will just get worse when I eventually fall in love with someone who likes my friends better.”
“I always lose my best friends.” _
_“Why couldn’t I say anything (or another variation of that)? I’m so stupid.” _
_“I wasn’t a good editor. I’ll never be. I’ll never be brilliant. Never be original. I’m just stupid, selfish me.”
_“I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone who wants to talk to me and enjoy my company. Everyone hates me too much. And I know that Christ is always there but I just wish he could be here in person because he would understand me and cheer me up and want to be with me. No one else does.” _
I wrote those things. Me. And I can’t…if you could read what I’m reading right now…
How did that little girl get through it all?