I was thinking about something the other night. Why is it that certain songs, certain movies, certain scents, even, bring the memories of high school back? Not just the memories, but the very feelings, the very psychological states, of being there. Of course, any time of life is susceptible to this, but I find the memories of high school to be the most ... vivid, I guess. It wasn't like I had a horrible time in high school; I got good grades, I wasn't bullied, and I had some close friends and a wider group of fellow oddball friends in my class. Plus, partially due to my older cousin, I was friendly with people who were not in my class, from many social groups, and it was nice.

Nevertheless, despite my lovely friends whom I am still close to, I was lonely as heck. (I am sure they were, too. One of them had an eating disorder for like a year, and I had no idea.) At home, I felt forgotten, exiled to an insect-filled basement. I had good parents, but changes to our family suddenly left me to be the self-sufficient child before I was ready. If I had needs, I learned to stifle them because I repeatedly felt like I was being inconvenient.
I threw myself into spiritual discipline and that got me through. I was careful to make good, not regrettable, choices, and that served me well.

For the first half of high school, my romantic discomfort was self-inflicted as, against my own conscious will, I chose crushes that could never be anything but unrequited. The shames of those days still burn white-hot if I remember them, even though I think it most likely that I remember my awkwardness more than anyone else does. The second half of high school was more complicated, with crushes returned but not acted upon, a relationship that was official but not the sort I had wanted (especially after my more emotionally close mutual-crush friendship), and more unrequited nonsense for other, unreachable targets after that was over.

I would go home and take care of my responsibilities then pour myself into whatever art or writing I needed to do to stay sane. That, my close friends, and the prayer and meditation actually probably saved me from having more serious trouble with depression. As it was, I was miserable sometimes but never utterly despaired. I had a good foundation to build on with a happy childhood, so the recent changes weren't enough to knock me into being totally unhealthy. 

I hear music from that time of my life, though, and it all comes welling out of my chest as if to choke me. I see it, I feel it like I am there again. Not usually the good feelings. Driving home from vespers, feeling alone. The sound of slamming lockers and the scent of those hallways after school when most people have left. The smell of crushed millepede in the cold basement, ever present, filling the vacuum bags, permeating the carpet. (Haha, so gross.) The creak of the stairs as I descend to my bug-ridden sanctuary, heavy-hearted, after another failed attempt to assuage my pain by connecting with my parents.

There was much beauty in those days, and when I was with my friends, I felt accepted, loved, and good enough. Looking at photographs brings back happy memories. However, most of the time when I get a really strong recollection due to music, it is bittersweet at best. Why must high school be what comes back to mind after all this time? I didn't want it to be some super-important time of my life when I was there. I wanted to get it over with and be done as soon as possible. High school was NOT the "best time of my life" or whatever. It was in many ways the worst. Though I made careful, good choices that have affected me positively, I also developed the cognitive distortions that plague me today. I suppose so much brain development takes place that it is just an important time whether it is pleasant or not. I realize that it has been eight years since I was sixteen. Eight years before that, I was ... well, a child. That is so weird.

Why must those four stupid years be so memorable?

I cannot begin to give enough credit to how much better life has gotten after high school. I have done things that are worthwhile, created things worth creating, built a relationship worth building. Getting my master's degree was hard and I danced more intimately with depression than I ever had before, but it was a shorter sucky experience, and the degree was something that I chose, and I never felt quite so alone. Matt and I are coming up on having been married for four years already. Time passes so quickly. Sweetly. When I remember how I felt as a freshman or sophomore in high school, I feel all the more grateful for what I have now. The closeness and tenderness I receive daily are like balm for the everyday pains of life.We were just two lonely kids, but we found each other and our quality of life has improved massively. I think Matt feels similarly. He said to me tonight as we were reflecting on our life choices and where we are now, "You know how in The Perks of Being a Wallflower they talk about how 'we accept the love we think we deserve' as a reason why people get into bad relationships?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm so glad I accepted love that is better than I thought I deserved." (And then he hugged me.)

If I could go back to my high school self, or send a message, it would certainly be along the lines of, "It gets so much better! Don't let the bad things affect your self esteem so much. You're going to be fine. You deserve someone who loves you as much as you love him, and that is what you are going to get. You are going to be so happy and it won't be long now!"

And if I could go back and send a message to Matt when he was around the same age, 16 or 17 or so, when he was feeling lonely and rejected, I would say, "Things are rough for you right now, but I just want you to know that you are a desirable, valuable person. The sad stuff you are experiencing isn't a pattern for your life. You deserve so much better. In the future, you are going to fall in love and I am going to love you back, more than I have ever loved anything or anyone else in the whole world. Don't be afraid. Don't give up. Sooner than you think, we'll be together, and you are going to experience, in your own words, the best times of your life so far." 
If I wasn't afraid to drop a hint that I already knew him at that point, I might also say, "You may not think anyone sees your pain or notices you right now, but someone does. She already thinks you deserve so much better. She is impressed with your maturity and already thinks you are going to make some girl very happy. She just doesn't realize yet that it's going to be her."

So we totally friendzoned each other for a year or two until we both realized that we might actually be a good match. :)

So, in short, A) high school sucked in a lot of ways, B) it baffles me why music always brings the melancholy memories to mind, and C) thank goodness high school is over because life is so much better now.

Wrote this last night but forgot to post.

At my internship I am involved as a social worker in facilitating a relapse prevention class for felons with drug problems. This wasn't the sort of thing I was interested in doing at all when I chose social work. But my attitude towards working with criminal offenders has changed so dramatically.

Tonight's class was fantastic. We are nearing the end of our weekly group with them. It's been going on for the past three months. Tonight (as happens increasingly as the class nears completion) the ideas seemed to really fall into place. Things were clicking for them. We talked about (and I plotted out on the whiteboard with their suggestions) various things- situations that in the past had led them to use drugs again or really want to, the thoughts they had before, during and after these incidents, and a new thought- thoughts that not if but when they encountered that situation again they could use to counteract the unhealthy thoughts. Also wrote down feelings they said they remembered having at various points throughout this process. It's harder to explain than to actually show on a whiteboard. Anyway, things that we had been discussing in the weekly class for weeks really clicked for them. It was fantastic. You could see their eyes light up, and more than one person exclaimed, "This is really helpful!" or "Yes, this is really going to help me!"

I've been helping with that group since the very beginning. Mandated groups are very difficult in some ways yet they are probably more common than voluntary groups in my field of work. The first few weeks, it was rough. A lot of people were quiet, and one guy was kind of mean and kept shutting the younger folks down and talking about how he didn't need the class and insinuating he was better than everyone. It was frustrating. I told my supervisors who were running the class (I was helping but mostly observing then since it was early on) that I was wondering he was hurting the group so much we needed to kick him out. They wisely suggested to give him a little while longer and talked to his probation officer. His probation officer gave him a talking-to, and after that he was quiet for a few weeks. Recently he started saying a bit more. At first it was only positive if you looked at it with your head tilted and eyes half-crossed.  Sort of backhanded encouragement or whatever. But more and more he seemed to start to feel like part of the group, sharing a bit of his personal struggles (as opposed to presenting that he had no struggles as he did at first) and offering bits of advice and encouragement that weren't tinged with bitterness.

The quieter members opened up too over the course of the group, baring their souls, talking about their struggles with addiction, pain and shame. More experienced group members offered advice and encouragement. It is inspiring.

And today, it seemed like everyone got something good out of the group. I kept hearing "I can really use this!" and "This is so helpful!"

It was really a summation of everything that we had been building on for a while. It is great to see all of that work they have done pay off.

Of course, I am a social worker, and I believe in hope, but I am also a realist. I am not a cynic, but I know that it is not likely that everyone in that group, even if they all have no intention of ever slipping up again, is going to be 100% successful from here on out. Some will most likely go back to jail for drug use at least once or twice, sadly. But if we make a difference for just one or two, it's very much worth it. At the moment it seems like we are making a difference for all of the half a dozen or so people who have made it so far in the class. I wish the best for all of them.

(What is strange is that today started so badly. Things got off to a bad start with my first group in the morning. Not with the members, but with the location. We had nowhere to meet because our usual place was taken and everyone except the offenders and me forgot the group was even happening. We made do with a random smaller space with my supervisor in her office. Social workers must be flexible if anything. In the moment things like this are very frustrating; I was angry though not really at anyone in particular. I felt like they were sort of given the short end of the stick, waiting awkwardly in the lobby forever and largely ignored.  I admit I was also anxious and frustrated because I was stuck looking foolish and unprepared (although I really wasn't and had come extra early that day) and had to improvise with four felons. lol. After we got it figured out and got them sent off happily and early, I was relieved, though still disappointed the class did not go half as smoothly as planned. With everything coming up this week and weekend I was also feeling very overwhelmed, and had not been able to sleep the night before so I was too tired to cope. The prospect of being at my internship for another nine hours after that group was done (Wednesday is always a VERY LONG DAY) was devastating! But once I got some coffee in my system things started to seem much more doable. I don't have coffee very often. I do not think I had had any since January or February, but man, it helped so much.

I did some counseling with a client which went better than expected. Novice counselor that I am, I am pleasantly surprised that all the people I have seen in individual sessions so far have responded well. I don't think this is because I am particularly awesome at it; these were all pretty nice, agreeable sorts of people. Nice to converse with. Committed to their loved ones and want to do well in life. Still, it is encouraging that at least my basic listening and empathy skills are probably not awful. I am not actively messing people up as far as I know, though, and I consider this success. Also, everyone I have talked with (more like listened to and asked the right questions of, ha) has rated the sessions as helpful or very helpful.)

Anyway, here's the thing. Like many bright-eyed young students, I got into social work with this vague idea that I wanted to be "helping people." Now, you may say, that is exactly what I am doing. And it sort of is, but it also isn't. My job is to help them come to grips with the strength they already have within themselves. I assist them to make the connections they just hadn't made yet. Or to show them a more useful way of thinking, of paying attention to this thought they have that helps them do the right thing rather than that thought that leads them to depression and drug use. My job is to help them figure out what works, what they have already done which helped a little that they could do more of, and what their goals are. Much of this really means asking them the right questions so they realize it themselves. I do not know ahead of time what the solution is. How could I? If someone makes a decision for their own life it will mean a whole lot more than if I decide for them.

I'm not even opening doors for them. I am just pointing to the doors that were already there in their own mind so that they can open them and go through them themselves, if they so choose. Or I am showing them how to clean their glasses so they can see the doors that have already been there, and pick the right one so they aren't fumbling around.

I do lots of different things, but my favorite times are when people realize their own strengths and start to use them, or when people find relief for their distress due to some more healthy strategy I helped them develop on their own, or whatever. It is so beautiful to see how people react when they realize that things really are not nearly as hopeless as they thought. New light comes into their eyes. That is the best way I can describe it. Their wings grow a little. I don't know. It's just neat and that is my favorite, favorite part. It's them, it's all them. I walk with them a short while and shine a little light which sometimes helps.

I am not "helping people" like you would help a drowning person or an injured person. I like it though because I can still see it making a difference, and in a way that makes people feel more able and confident, and not beholden to me for somehow "saving" them.

Closing thoughts: What do you think of when I say "offenders" and "felons?" Yeah, working with people on probation and parole is nothing like I thought. Especially when it comes to addictions. The phrase "There but for the grace of God go I" comes to mind. (I like the almost gut-wrenching realization that saying implies but not the insinuation that God might have graced me more and the other people less or something.) Sometimes people make stupid choices (don't we all within our own frames of reference? Just hoping that we don't make choices so stupid they mess us up for good?) but sometimes crazy stuff happens. Imagine getting in a horrible accident and coming out of it addicted to the pain medications they pumped into you. I know that even if I try to make the right choices addiction could happen to me. (I was kind of worried about that when I got my wisdom teeth out a few weeks ago. Nothing to worry about there- pain meds make me vomit. I hate vomiting even more than I hate pain.)

Anyway. People who have committed crimes are surprisingly very much like you or me. It isn't hard to want the best for most of them.

I really love what I am doing. It feels like what I am doing with the other social workers there is making a difference in people's lives, or helping them make a difference in their own lives, and that feels just plain awesome. It's overwhelming to think about all of the people in this world who could use some sort of help, but what matters is to make a difference to one. Then one more. Then one more. And it feels to me like this is the work I was called to do, and it feels like it matters.

I'm not here much, and my words may ping like pebbles in an empty bucket. I'm sorry I neglect this; I am neglecting a part of myself as well as those I know who still come to Xanga.