Switched-On Magazine

By Allyson, a high school senior
December 15, 2008

For many people, just venting about the problems in their lives can be relieving. But for those of us for whom the issues are really personal, it is not always easy to talk about them, especially to someone who is practically a stranger (like a guidance counselor). When there are a lot of issues going on at home, at school or in life in general, it can get especially difficult to talk about those issues. Opening up about how we feel in reaction to the stresses of life is hard, but it is one way to cope with those stresses.

In the following article, 'marissa? tells her story about her troubles opening up about the problems that were plaguing her life.

I was about to tune Mr. Scotts lecturing out when I saw Ms. Roland linger by the doorway of the classroom. Even before Mr. Scott walked over to her to hear her whisper my name, I knew from the way she looked at me that she wanted to see me.

"So how are you?"

"Fine."

I heard the office door shut behind me as I sat in front of Ms. Rolands desk.

"Marissa, there are a few things I need to talk to you about."

I thought I could read it in her expression. She wanted to talk about my grades, which were not really that great.

"You have not submitted a college application. Of all the seniors in your program, you are the only one who has not submitted a single application."

"Yeah..."

"Is there any reason why you have not turned at least one in?"

I could not look her straight in the eye.

"I do not wanna go to college." My eyes keep darting towards the window, and I felt my fingers tapping furiously on the arm of the chair.

"Can you tell me why?"

There was a bird on the window ledge surveying its wooden proximity. I watched it pause and peck gently on the glass, like it was calling out to someone. In its tiny eyes I saw a miniature version of the office, of the wall of flags from various colleges and universities, and a single girl, staring blankly back.

"Marissa, what is wrong?"

The tissue box fell beside the leg of the desk, and Ms. Roland leapt from her seat to pick it up. As she bent over to get it, her eyes looked straight into mine. I swiveled my head to another direction and buried my face into the tissue paper. It felt so damp in my hands.

"Is there something going on at home you want to talk about?"

I tried to hide my face. I tried to hide beneath the weakening cover of the tissue paper. I was afraid of what she could see. I sat there sobbing and felt myself exposed with every tear drop. But still I could not muster out the words to tell her what was happening.

I let myself cry for a little longer, and then slowly, I unraveled my story. The more words came out about the things that plagued me, the more I felt better.