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It was a Thursday afternoon that I finally came to my senses and heard myself screaming. I was in sickbay at my high school, lying on my back on a cot, as I would be for the next two hours.

After trying to communicate to my Vice Principal that I needed him to listen to me because I could not endure another class, they stuck me in sickbay. All they heard of my plea was that I could not endure another class and presumed I was "sick." My parents were phoned and I was put in sickbay for the afternoon.

I was positively furious at first. I lay on my back fuming. I studied the bland-looking speckles on the wall and ground my teeth.

In order to understand how I got here, we have to go back in time.

I had always loved school. For a good part of my elementary and for all of my junior high years I went to a small public school in Canada. I hated being forced to learn math and didn't agree with many of the ways we learned things but I loved to learn and so I assumed this meant loving school. I thought that for nine or ten months of the year the only place you were allowed to learn was in a school, so I did. During the summer months I learned on my own (and I can truthfully say that most of what I remember is what I taught myself!). I borrowed whole sections of books from the library about animals and memorized them. I devoured novels, wrote poetry, watched the discovery channel with my dad and had campfires late at night where he would tell us all the constellations he knew. I would climb trees and roam the big field behind our house.

As I got older I found ways of being more creative with the assignments and of finding loopholes to be as zany as possible. I grew delighted with writing and this consumed most of my time. By the time junior high came I was already making friends with most of my teachers. I was lucky in that respect; I had excellent teachers. I was in French immersion and in most of the same classes with the same kids for three years. Grade nine was the best year of my life and I knew nothing would be the same when I got to high school.

High school was a terrifying place. It was unfamiliar and impersonal. It was huge compared with the tiny nurturing school I had left. It was a concrete building with strange sounding bells, security guards, men with walkie-talkies, and classrooms that seemed almost identical. The announcements made me jump the first few times because they were so loud. My friends were suddenly even more interested in boys, dating, make up, and other things that didn't particularly concern me. This wouldn't have been so bad if they would talk about something else at times. The safety of my immersion class was gone as we all got spilt up. Every morning and afternoon I rode the bus to and from school and endured the cursing and stories of drug dealing and sexual contact.

I hated high school. I hated it more when we were ushered into the auditorium on the first day and lectured. We were given the statistics "One in ten fails grade ten math, one in ten fails grade ten English… blah, blah, blah." They went on and on about vandalism and how they hoped, though it was inevitable, that it wouldn't be any of us personally. I began to feel guilty as I sat there amidst many other people I didn't know. I felt uncomfortable and even then a little feeling in my gut was telling me to get out. But I couldn't get out. I was trapped in this prison.

I soon got used to missing lunches in my hectic schedule. I grew accustomed to bustling from one place to another and rushing off to choir and band. I grew used to pretending to be someone else around my friends when I saw they didn't understand me anymore. I grew used to handing in assignments that were much too easy for me and that looked like every one else's. I got used to feeling constantly tired after staying up late every night to finish the never-ending load of homework. I got used to my mind constantly racing and my active imagination beginning to work against me. I got used to being at the top of many of my classes and the pressure to stay there. But one thing remained that I could not get used to -the feeling in my gut that something was wrong. I had a feeling that I could ignore as long as I was busy but when I lay in bed at night it came back. It told me I wasn't happy. It told me I had to get out of school. It told me that this way of existing was going to kill me. I only tried to tell a few people but I was ignored. So I pushed the voice down over and over again. Even if I did need to get out, how could I? I knew no other way.

Around this time I became extremely upset. I could feel myself heading for a mental breakdown but I'd tell myself "You just need to get through this week. Just get through this week of tests and concerts and term papers and then you can relax." This week turned into two months, then three, and then four and I couldn't relax. My marks were wonderful. Most of my teachers loved me. Boys were noticing me. If ever I dared to complain I was told I was being a worrywart. Look at all I had going for me! The voice got stronger and stronger. Sometimes I would start crying at school. I knew that this Laura that seemed so wonderful, so perfect, wasn't me. I wondered why my marks should be costing me my life. I felt fake. I felt trapped. There was no one to tell.

Before Christmas break, I stumbled upon a site for "homeschooling." I had always envisioned children sitting around a table with a bunch of textbooks for six hours every day. Of course some people do that but I found that many did not. I was searching for an alternative and I had found one, however radical. At first I told no one and stayed up extra late after finishing homework and researched this tiny ray of hope. The more I heard of it the more I liked it.

I mentioned it to my mother and since she is a teacher and didn't know much about it she got upset when I wouldn't stop bothering her and said she didn't know. She was afraid I'd ruin my life.

I went to my school counselor soon after. I had the laws for home education nestled safely in my backpack. One thing I have learned is NEVER to mention the word "homeschooling" to a school person. She had a fit. She told me I'd become a recluse. I left her office feeling as if I'd been slapped.

Then exams were around the bend and I forgot for a while. I was able to tell myself that everything would slow down after exams. I felt like I was going insane. I ended up studying for many of my exams the day before or day of because I was so exhausted. I was beginning not to eat. I wasn't sleeping well as I worried about all the things that I needed to get done. I was a living zombie.

During Christmas break I had completed an assignment for a student teacher of mine that required me to put her address in the Cc: spot. Earlier that term I had written her a thoughtful note -just as I had for my other teachers- to compliment and encourage her but other than that she was just another person. After I completed the assignment she wrote back to me and thanked me for the note and told me I had received 10/10 on the assignment. I remembered what had happened when I had taken the risk of writing to one of my other teachers and what good friends we had become and I wanted to write to her. It wasn't until I had a dream in which we became friends that I decided I'd write her back. I was nervous. Would I be stepping out of my place as student? She wrote back to me. We kept writing back to one another until finally I couldn't bear it anymore and I asked if we could be friends. I told her virtually nothing of my unhappiness.

Finally, in late January, I stumbled upon a website listing signs of depression. I took the quiz and was shocked to see how many symptoms I fit. I knew I needed to tell someone. I emailed my newfound friend and also my ninth grade teacher that I had been communicating with for many months. This was when things took off.

I was invited to call my student teacher and it was the first time I was really able to talk to any one. I stayed on the phone for several hours and let everything come gushing out. To my great surprise this person, who I still didn't know very well, listened to me. It was the first of many, many conversations with her. I can honestly say it was one of the only things that kept me sane during this time. I told my science teacher what was going on. Soon I had a whole network of people involved. I was scheduled to see a counselor, I called help lines and I found that hardly anyone listened. School was rarely blamed for anything. I was often the one with the problem. Anti-depressant drugs were suggested to me. I went through the next few months in a daze. I continued to robotically manufacture my assignments. I began locking myself in my room. My parents knew little of what was going on. I didn't know how to tell them. Through it all I found bits and pieces of support here and there but the best support was my student teacher.

I lost a lot of weight during this time. Some of my teachers began to suspect that I had an eating disorder. I didn't, of course, but I was so upset I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep either. I couldn't concentrate. I felt dead inside. Classes became unendurable, even my favorite classes. I would sometimes just begin to cry in class. The feeling inside me grew and grew until I was literally screaming. I had to use all my will power not to get up and leave.

I realized at one point that my life was not worth it to me if I could not ever do anything I wanted. The idea of spending "only two" more years in this place was enough to make me consider suicide.

As all the counselors and people around me thought they were concentrating on the real problem I continued to feel something still wasn't right. I called my student teacher telling her that something in my gut was screaming and that I knew I could not stay in this school. I had already tried to tell everyone this but it wasn't until that Thursday afternoon that I became thoroughly fed up.

When I got out of sickbay that day I went to my locker and completely cleaned it out. I was ready to walk out.

On Monday, April 15th, 2002, I did.That was the best thing I have ever done.

There was much manipulating from the schools and counselors in between but I left. I had been doing research about homeschooling for about seven months and I knew what I was doing. Finally, I was free.

When I left I had one of the highest averages in the school. But I realized that those marks meant so much less to me than my happiness. I realized my life was my own and that the school system was afraid of me. They were terrified not only of me but of all the other kids that could possibly do the same thing. These people were wonderful people who did really want to help but they couldn't as long as they didn't listen to me. I was told countless times that because I was not yet sixteen, I was not "an independent member of society." Essentially, I was given the message that I was somehow less than a person and not really capable of making my own decisions. I was threatened with losing my marks and transcripts but by this time I didn't care. I knew too well that I could be free and nothing would stop me from doing just that. I am never going back to that school as a student for as long as I live. I am free to do and learn as I please and to live.

The day I rose out of school was the best day I ever lived. I've educated myself on the possibilities that life holds and now I never want to go back. Now I hope to inspire as many other kids as possible to educate themselves about their choices and to rise up and out of all the prisons. You have a voice so use it!

~ Laura