The Journey of a Lifetime

I had it all. I was a 15-year-old straight-A student, varsity basketball and softball player, and somehow always found myself intertwined in some sort of romance. What can you expect from a girl with Taylor Swift’s Fearless album stuck on repeat? This might sound like the perfect beginning to a perfect story about a perfect girl with the perfect life, but I can promise you this is not that. However, I can also promise you that it won’t be the worst story you’ve ever come across either. That’s part of what makes it so hard to tell.

It was a steaming Sunday afternoon in July of 2010. My mom was trying to convince me that I needed put on “happy pills” because I “just wasn’t Kayleigh anymore.” I didn’t know what she meant by that. I felt the same. Sure, maybe I got really mad every once in a while about stuff but doesn’t everyone? I never broke anything, and I never hit anyone. I guess I cried quite a bit when trying to talk about my “feelings,” but, I don’t know, what’s so wrong with that? I thought humans were supposed to have emotions. It didn’t make sense to me, but she was so passionate about me “getting better” that I wanted to do it for her. She was my mom! I had to be better for her, right?

A few days later the family doctor had gotten us in to talk about the issues going on. As you can probably imagine, when he asked what was going on, I burst into tears. “Tell him what you told me,” my mom said softly from behind me.

“I think I need happy pills because I get really mad really easily, and I don’t know how to control it,” I blurted out as fast as I could then continued to sob.

Without hesitation he started writing out a script for those happy pills my mom raved so much about and said, “You have nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of teens your age need anti-depressants.” Anti-DEPRESSANTS? So, what does this mean? I have DEPRESSION? I wanted to say, “Excuse me, I said happy pills not anti-depressants,” but without saying a word, I walked out of that room and stood with my head down as my mom scheduled a follow-up appointment to make sure the new medicine was working. “I don’t want to be crazy,” I kept thinking to myself over and over. My stomach was turning the whole way down the elevator and out into the parking lot.

The bright sunshine blinded me and brought me back to reality. “I can do this. I have no idea what is going on with me, but I’d do anything to make my mom proud of me again. People deal with a lot worse. I can totally take a little pill to be normal.”

So, I did. For a long time. I never noticed feeling any better, but my mom said I was acting better. It didn’t matter so much what I thought of myself, but what she thought of me was everything to me. Again, it’s my mom we are talking about here! She was my hero!

At that follow up appointment two weeks later, I repeated the things she told me. “It’s amazing. I can tell a difference already,” “My relationships are flourishing,” and “I feel better than ever” was all the doctor needed to hear to send me on my way with more refills.

To be completely honest, though, things only got worse in my head. Although continuing to excel in school and sports, my anxiety rooted in self-esteem issues sky-rocketed to another dimension leaving every piece of common sense behind on earth. I tried to find the love and attention I couldn’t give myself through others.

My girlfriend at the time, in particular, got the worst of it. It was hard enough keeping her a secret from everyone I knew, being as I wasn’t out of the closet yet, but once I felt her slipping away, I truly started to lose it. She was the only person that knew who I was on the inside! I couldn’t let her leave me! Before I could even stop to think about what I was doing, a new girl had moved into town. Ashlee was a sexy brunette with an extremely wild side that just happened to look like and have the same name as a character on my favorite tv show....

Okay, okay, so yeah, I made her up, and, unfortunately, it worked like a charm. My girlfriend, Anastasia, fell head over heels just as much as I had watching the tv show. In fact, at one point Anastasia told Ashlee that she wanted to leave me for her, but Ashlee was having no part in that nonsense. Duh, I was her best friend. Flirting like “she” did with my girlfriend was totally fine for some reason, though.

The whole thing made me sick to my stomach, but I had become addicted to living two lives. It was exhilarating. Ashlee was rich, gorgeous, and could do anything she wanted including keeping MY relationship HOT. I was just a middle-class ugly duckling with DEPRESSION! Who would want a messed-up girl like that? I was convinced the spice in my life was much needed. Part of me still wants to blame Hannah Montana and her double life for ever thinking this could go well, but deep down I know I must take ownership.

About a year and a half had passed by the time I finally came out about my sexuality to everyone. We were walking into the house after a lost away game during my Junior basketball season when my mom had finally had enough of my back talk and decided she was taking my phone. “Shit,” I thought, “she’s definitely going to read my texts and figure out my secret!” I was desperate to keep it hidden because of what I had grown up learning about homosexuality. I just knew she wouldn’t approve.

As I stood there across the room frozen, she said again, “Kayleigh, your phone, now.” Next thing I knew, I was attempting to flee the scene when suddenly, we were on the ground literally wrestling for my phone. I thought my arms were going to fall off by the time she finally got it out of my hands. It was a dramatic play of events. “Well, you might as well tell me before I read it for myself,” she said flatly.

“Read what?” I tried to play dumb.

“Kayleigh, what are you hiding from me?” she snapped back.

Here came the water works again as I screamed, “I LIKE GIRLS.”

Without hesitating she took me in her arms, and for a split second, I thought all was right in the world. Then she ruined the moment when she said, “Oh, honey, we will get through this with prayer.” That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, good ole prayer was going to make me straight again. Thank God because my lie was getting way too extensive.

The only problem was that it didn’t work. Instead, my mom tried to ignore my newfound comfortability with myself as a lesbian by talking to me about boys all the time. “Oh, isn’t he cute?!” she would ask about random dudes we saw at the supermarket. It was becoming easier and easier to disappoint her in every way.

On the bright side, Ashlee finally died. Seriously, I told Anastasia she died in a motorcycle accident while she was visiting home in California. I know what you’re thinking, and you really don’t need to say it because it haunts me to this day. She was heartbroken! I had to act heartbroken! The whole tragedy actually brought us closer together as a couple which also haunts me to this day. Oh! You thought by “take ownership” I meant tell her the truth? No, give me another 30 years to work up the courage to do that. I never promised anyone perfection.

You might’ve thought at least coming clean to my family and friends would solve most of the built-up anger I had inside of me. You’d be wrong. I was still a whirlwind of emotion ALL. THE. TIME. The crazy thing was that I still didn’t think anything was wrong with me. I wasn’t chronically sad! I didn’t want to hurt myself! I was probably enjoying high school more than the average person. Again, I had it all! The friends, the popularity, the athletics, the teachers loved me, and my family was the type that everyone wished they had! What was there to be sad about?? My mom, on the other hand, said I needed the dosage of my happy pills upped.

“Our bodies get used to a certain dosage sometimes requiring an increase,” the doctor told me at my next appointment.

“Whatever,” I thought to myself, “just give me the prescription.” I didn’t want to argue anymore. My parents told me I was too argumentative and that kids need to just follow along with what’s best for them. Fine. Here comes your robot you wanted in a child.

My senior year was the first time I ever lost my temper, got destructive and punched a hole in a door. I don't even remember why! A short while after was when I really blew a big fuse. It was homecoming season for all the area schools. We had ours the weekend before, but my three best friends and I were thirsty for more. We were always that really wild group of girls trying to get away with another dumb idea, but this night was going to go down in history.

We dressed up in homecoming dresses from the previous years, took pictures together like we were really invited, and showed up to an old high school in the boondocks for their homecoming. Of course they weren’t going to have actual security; it was a little country school. “We can totally blend in,” we kept saying to each other.

We greatly underestimated who we were to this schools’ teachers and parents as opposing athletes. Upon trying to casually dance in the front door, we were stopped immediately and turned away by three chaperones that recognized us. The hilarious part is that they thought that would stop us.

Five minutes later we were at the back door waving over a kid getting a drink from the water fountain. Sometimes I still wonder if things would’ve been different if he didn’t let us in that night.

In the words of Shania Twain, “Let’s go girls.” We hit that dance floor like it was our last night alive. I only had one thing on my mind, though. “Where is she?” I danced around in circles trying not to make it obvious, but then she found me first.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I heard her yell from behind me over the music. I whirled around and came face-to-face with Anastasia. Yes, we snuck into my girlfriend’s homecoming. She wasn’t “out” yet at her school, so I hadn’t been invited to go with her.

“Surprise!” was the only thing I could get out before my friends were pulling me to run because the chaperones had spotted us. “IIII LLLOOOOVVVVEEE YYYOOOUUU,” I yelled back to her while simultaneously dodging the principal that had stepped in front of me. I felt like an all-star running back the way I made it out of there.

The getaway car was parked right outside the door we came in. We all jumped in and skidded off like we had just robbed our first bank. The adrenaline rush was so insane that we were at the gas station before I realized what I had just screamed across the gym. I interrupted the rambunctious laughter with an, “Oh. My. Gosh!” They all looked at me, mouths shut, wondering what I could possibly be freaking out about. “I just outed her to the whole homecoming.”

“No, Kayleigh, look at her. They already knew,” my friend, Wendy, assured me from outside the car pumping gas. This was not an uncommon comment from her. Although my hardest ride or die, she was a little mean to outsiders.

“No, Wendy, they didn’t,” I snapped back. “I need to call her.” I knew her number by heart. Not because I cared that much, but because I deleted her contact information so many times, the actual number was always popping up. Yes, we were THAT toxic high school couple.

I quickly dialed her number, and she immediately answered with, “Leave me alone. I never want to talk to you again,” then hung up. She had said this before, but this time it sounded far too real. I called again, but after it went to voicemail following the first ring, I knew she was ignoring me.

“Dammit, she’s pissed,” I said as calm as possible. “We have to find her. It didn’t sound like she’s at the homecoming anymore. She said she was going to an after party tonight.” All three of them nodded in agreement.

Why they were all for this little adventure is another thing that frequently crosses my mind. I have so many questions. Why did this sound like a good idea? Were we all nuts? And how the hell did we spot her car so quickly in the dark?

“You said she drives what color Mustang?” Jasmine asked from the front seat.

“Green.”

“Okay we are here!” she yelled excitedly like shit wasn’t about to go down.

It wasn’t thirty seconds after my, “I’m out front,” text that Anastasia came storming down the driveway towards us with her two friends following closely behind. I got out of the car by myself, and they stopped to let her approach me alone.

“So before you say anything, I’m sorry! I did not mean to tell everyone about us. I was just in the moment and had to tell you! You never know what could’ve happened to us back there!” I was being dramatic like always.

“What do you mean you told everyone about us?” she asked with a coldness in her voice that sent shivers down my spine.

“Uh when I yelled ‘I love you’?” At this point I was just plain confused.

Anastasia looked confused as well but still pissed, nonetheless. “I guess I was so focused on the fact that YOU were dancing at MY homecoming that I didn’t hear you say that.”

“Wait, let me get this straight,” now I was getting pissed, “you are mad because we snuck in for five minutes to make lifelong memories?”

“YES! It’s my senior homecoming, Kayleigh, and I just had to leave early!” she answered sounding way less mad, yet way more fed up. “And now you stalked me here. Like what the fuck is going on?” I still wasn’t understanding her side of things, though. I came here tonight to surprise her. She didn’t HAVE to leave early. They didn’t shut down the dance just because we snuck in. She could have laughed and gone on, dancing the rest of the night away! Yeah, the stalking was a bit much, but she wouldn’t answer my calls!

“Let’s go, Anastasia. Forget her,” one of her friends shouted from up the driveway.

“I can’t do this anymore, Kayleigh. You are too much.” She looked down as she said it, but I couldn’t stop staring at her. Too much? I should’ve simply said, “Then go find less,” but it was ten years later by the time that comeback was viral. No, no, honey. I can’t be too much. We have plans. We are going to college together! We are moving out of this God-forsaken state together!

“No!” I shouted. “I’ll tell everyone who you really are.” Why did I threaten her, you ask? Why did I feel so desperate that I needed to attack rather than pull back on defense? We’ll get to that later.

“See what I mean,” she said, exasperated. At this point, her friends had come into the circle, and Rhonda was getting out of the car. Tension was on another level. I was fuming.

At first, I turned to walk away, and I should have continued. Instead, I screamed “How’s this for too much?” and did a 180-roundhouse kick to her thigh. It didn’t phase her much physically, but we were all on another level mentally because of it. Anastasia’s friends quickly stepped in front of her, and Rhonda pulled my arm to get in the car. This time I went. We drove out of there like we had just robbed our second bank of the night.

The car was quiet, but my head was louder than ever. “What the actual fuck? In what world is that okay, Kayleigh? She is the supposed love of your life, and you ASSAULT her? YES, THAT WAS ASSAULT!”

The self-torment just kept going and going and going until finally Wendy broke the silence, “Well, tonight’s been nuts.”

“What have I done?” I finally started crying. I don’t know if they tried to console me or criticize me because I couldn’t hear what they were saying over my own thoughts and sobs.

I barely slept that night. I woke up a lot and texted Anastasia another long apology paragraph each time. I’ve always been good with written words. Reacting in the moment is where I seem to go wrong. I didn’t expect her to forgive me, and, honestly, I really didn’t want her to. I didn’t believe she should. I just wanted her to know how awful I felt and how much she didn’t deserve any of what happened.

I know you’re still wondering why I chose offense instead of defense. The truth is, I didn’t understand it at the time. It took me a long time and a lot of therapy to comprehend my actions. Mainly because I didn’t want to. I hated reminiscing on the bad times because I hated myself for those times. I had to realize that remembering who I was prevented me from ever being that Kayleigh again. My theory now is, I felt the need to control every situation, and when I couldn’t, I would do almost anything to get that upper hand back. I was convinced every little thing in life was a competition I NEEDED to win.

“My mom was right. I am sick,” was all I kept thinking when I woke up the next morning. “Why aren’t the happy pills working? Do I need my dosage increased again?” It was crazy – the way I thought medicine was supposed to cure everything, but no one had told me any other options.

That was the first time I ever questioned the medicine. I had been taking it daily for over two years without wondering, even once, if it was truly what was best for me. At this point, all I could think is, “I BETTER keep taking it, or I will be even worse!”

Two weeks later, Anastasia had forgiven me with the condition that I never come close to being who I was that night again. I made a promise, not only to her, but to myself that I wouldn’t. “I am in control of my actions,” I would tell myself daily so that maybe one day I’d finally be convinced. Honestly, though, there was a lot of hoping and praying that nothing happened to get me on that level again. I truly didn’t know how to control it. I guess this is something me and the Hulk had in common.

I went on the rest of that year to flourish. I made the area All-Star basketball game, crushed softball awards all over the board, and even earned the title Valedictorian of the graduating class of 2012. Next up was what I still refer to as the best summer of my entire life, and then onto a university to earn my degree and become a world-renowned lawyer. *Hopefully!*

Anastasia had left me for another girl, but we were still going to college at the same school. She would come back to me once everything was together. I just knew it. We were meant to be together. If not, I’d be singing Speak Now at her wedding one day. Taylor always has my back.

Plans weren’t something that I was good at changing. I had a path, and I was GOING down that path regardless of what happened or what anyone said to me. It’s no surprise I struggled to handle the next chapter but back then?