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My Experience In High School

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I never expected I’d spend the first two years of high school bedridden and suicidal. I was born and raised in Elmhurst, Queens. Attending the same school from kindergarten to 8th grade, I was used to being in the same environment. I was given assurance when my friends consistently told me that I was lucky and that I would be able to adapt to high school life fairly quickly — I was the outgoing one, the one who made everyone laugh.
The day we received our high school acceptance letters was the biggest day for every NYC eighth grader. To my excitement I was accepted into my second choice school — the school that I worked so hard to get into. A new wave of accomplishment fell over me as I knew my hard work paid off.
Shortly, I made new friends, joined the choir, and auditioned for a band. Yet, I still felt alone. Sooner or later, I felt hated by my teachers and unlike my middle school, my high school had a 8% asian population. Although it didn’t bother me at all, it all changed once the students began throwing racist remarks and referred to me as “the asian girl”. Constant rejection kept hitting me in the face as my grades starting plummeting no matter how hard I tried.
At the time, I was unsure on how to deal with my emotions. Driven by anxiety, I called my best friend one morning and we took the day off from school. Her father was in the hospital and we were both in a place where we just wanted to disappear. With nothing to do, we took a bus all the way to the beach.The
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