Sometimes I wish I could have been a theater kid. Life would have been so much simpler. I would rap Hamilton with my friends in the middle of the halls at school while people angrily glared at us. I would sing random musical songs with the rest of the cast at a Friendly’s after opening night, when all of us were still in our makeup, and I’d laugh until my mascara ran down my face and my stomach ached. I would attempt to belt notes that are painful for me to belt and almost get vocal nodes, just to prove that I can still somewhat belt. My inner turmoils would consist of something mundane, like whether I can memorize my lines in time for tech week. I would be loud, confident, and unafraid. Instead, I found myself drifting.

My thirteen-year-old self -- still in middle school, where cliques and friend groups were particularly prominent -- couldn’t handle drifting aimlessly, without anything to latch on to. So, I tried desperately to make myself a part of the theater kids, just to have some sort of label. I listened to Les Miserables and Hamilton nonstop, and joined tech for the school’s production of Annie after the director (who I know didn’t like me at all) cast me as a person who pushed someone’s wheelchair (needless to say, I was furious, but forced myself to continue so I could have at least something to put on my crappy musical theater resume). 

This continued through freshman year, in which I joined the high school choir and auditioned for musicals. I would get upset whenever I looked at the cast list to find myself in the ensemble once again. I wanted to prove to both myself and the other theater kids that I was talented enough to have a major role.

Freshman year was when my depression reached an all time low; I remember rehearsing the choreography for “What You Want” from Legally Blonde while experiencing such bad derealization that everything felt like a horrible dream. I began to distance myself from my friends. At this point, I questioned myself: why did I continue doing musical theater? Who was I trying to impress? Being a struggling freshman, all I did was add more pressure to myself. Once again, I found myself drifting.

I've always been the "weird kid", and because of that, I was always isolated from everyone else. No matter what I did, I was always drifting. It certainly took a toll on my mental health. I've sort of gotten used to being alone, so it doesn't hurt as much as it used to. Now, drifting is what I do, and I'm trying to embrace it.

Although, I suppose it would be nice to be a theater kid sometimes.