So, part way through 1995, I liberated myself from high school. I was so damn excited. I’m not sure why I wanted to leave so badly but school had been the start of where things changed for me. Well, I guess it wasn’t school per se, it was the things that happened at school.

Anyway, I was free. There was just one problem, I totally missed the memo. Polytechnic (tech) is the same as school except you call the teacher by their Christian name, not their surname. Oh boy, was I in for a rude awakening (yet another).

I must of been naïve or in some sort of dreamland, as I signed up for an office technology certificate, what did I think I was going to study? None of the subjects interested me hugely, that I recall. I think I was too shell-shocked by the fact that I had signed up for more schooling, when I’d just escaped twelve years of it. At that time my only aspiration was to work in an office so the certificate I’d chosen was perfect but I wasn’t really into it. Although, there’s a strong possibility that nothing would of peaked my interest at that stage.

If I’m honest, I can hardly remember a damn thing about the time I spent at tech. I was probably hoping for a fresh start, get away from the bullies and stigma I’d experienced for the last six years. I vaguely recall making some new friends but we never stayed in touch like I did with the buddies I’d made throughout primary, intermediate and high school.

During the year, I discovered that as part of my student loan, I had access to course related costs. I’m pretty sure I had no course related costs but without much effort I seemed to have access to more money than I’d ever dreamed of (clearly I was easily pleased then). Never mind that I had to pay it back with interest.

I was in seventh Heaven. I treated myself to several pairs of Levi jeans (I’m sure they were in tatters but they were from a second hand boutique shop so they had to be cool). Second hand boutique shops were cooler than normal “op shops” and they had all the label brands which cracks me up now for some reason. I also purchased myself a brand new pair of jeans and a brand new pair of floral Dr Marten (docs) 8 up boots from Havoc (a shop dedicated to bogans really). For those not familiar with what the term bogan means, just imagine Beavis and Butthead in human form (more so the clothing and music taste). The docs were $250.00 which would later equate to more than a weeks wages and I don’t think I had an ounce of remorse or guilt about buying them. I purchased myself a bomber jacket too at some stage and was delighted to find out that each inside pocket could hold three full beers (cans). How convenient! Some of my friends thought my flower boots were heinous but they went well with my grunge style clothing and I loved them to death (literally). My clothing styles had been all over the show for years. I had bogan clothes, surfie clothes and grunge clothes and I had great joy in mixing the clothing styles together. This was my stab at stereotypes and not wanting to be put into a one box or labeled in a particular way.

My new found money also provided me with opportunities. I nolonger had to buy the cheap plastic flagon beer. I could try whatever kind of beer I desired and the same with cigarettes. 10 packs were available then and I would buy different kinds of smokes to decide my preference, sometimes buying multiple packets at a time.

Having money was fun and at the time it felt like free money, like I’d won the lottery. I liked buying myself things, and having clothes I liked made me feel good.

At this stage, I still had ongoing problems with my eyes. There were still some underlying mental health issues and it was unfortunate that alcohol, marijuana (more occasional) and cigarettes seemed to flare my eyes up. I was very insistent in using them which was very frustrating for my mum. I guess I can see her point now. I was doing stuff which made my eyes more red, which ultimately made me feel upset in the long run. I think part of me used alcohol as a confidence boost, the other to fit in and then there was this part of me which felt it was my god given right to drink. Everybody else does it, why should I miss out? Certainly the binge drinking culture in New Zealand is easy to he absorbed into, especially if you don’t mind the odd drop.

My self-esteem had improved a little, but the other issues hadn’t. I was still having problems with my sleeping. The insomnia was completely fed by fear and anxiety. Sunday nights were always the worst, worrying about what the week might bring. The trouble was that not being able to sleep made me anxious and being constantly tired caused anxiety too. If things happened during the week to upset the apple cart, there might not be any improvement with sleep throughout the week. I’m not sure I’m able to articulate just how destructive this cycle was but it caused a lot of struggles. I’m sure most people can relate to how they felt after a bad sleep; moody, forgetful, poor concentration and many other things to boot. All of those things are exacerbated when the issue is chronic which it had been for six years at this stage.

I know these issues made things more difficult for me and I can’t remember if I tried to start tech with a clean slate with my attendance but I can say with certainty if I did try at the start, it did not last.

Towards the end of the year, the Polytech phoned my parents and said that I’d had too much time off business english and that there was a maximum amount of time off allowed. To pass the entire course, you must have an 80% pass rate for business english, and as I’d had too much time off, I’d instantly failed. I remember feeling so crushed. Why hadn’t they told me earlier so I could sort my shit out? I had wanted to go out into the real world and this was my very first pill to swallow and boy was it bitter. There were consequences for my actions and I felt them deeply. To put a cherry on the top there were allegations made about drug use. Of course that was nonsense, once again people made assumptions about my behaviour because of my red eyes. That really did add insult to injury though. I did go to class stoned once in seventh form and it was definitely not something I’d try again as I was sure the teacher could smell the marijuana. I was already self conscious and I didn’t need an additional layer of paranoia.

I was so angry at the Polytech and to make matters worse there were no options to make the time up, my bed had been made. I had two options, try to find a job with an incomplete certificate or go back the following year to study business english by itself. There was certainly only one option in my mind. It felt a lot like the seventh form all over again. I would be going back to Polytech for one subject. What a waste of six months. How dare my journey into the real world be delayed.

While I had some mental health issues, I think I was pretty immature as well. I was disengaged, had a chip on my shoulder and a bit of a bad attitude. To be fair, at every school (apart from primary) there had been some sort of mistreatment of me by the establishment and then there was the medical professions who’d let me down. I think I was steadily losing faith in “the system” and I can understand why I felt angry. It wasn’t just the establishment I was pissed off at, I was pissed off at god (or whoever) for giving me eczema and red eyes and the unseen issues that came as a result. Sometimes when I’m writing about these things I can feel the rage, it feels so real. While I understand why I was so angry I’m not that person anymore and the anger feels so foreign. Don’t get me wrong, I still get angry sometimes but I think I sit more in the disappointment space, especially around fertility, but I’ll talk about that in more detail when I get to present time.

I suppose one good thing did become of my failings. At the end of the year, I turned 18 and I got my hands on some money from the government and would receive a weekly sum of $120.00. I was rich, wahoo! I was essentially having a six month paid holiday, being a very part-time student, how bad could it be!? It would be the only time I squeezed anything out of the government so in a way I’m pleased that’s how things unfolded.

During my time at tech, my parents decided to separate. Mum and us kids moved to a new house. It was really weird and at that stage we were pretty much all teenagers. There were a lot of emotions and anger in the house but nobody knew how to express them. A few things got bashed or broken during this time. It must of been a terribly unpleasant time for my mother as well, who was now navigating things in a one parent home and no doubt going through her own grieving process. Dad certainly wasn’t a happy camper either and we missed having him around. Mum was always a bit of a soft touch and her usual phrase regarding discipline was something along the lines of ” wait ’til your father gets home”, which wasn’t something she could say anymore. Things seemed more unruly without dad to discipline us.

I struggled with the turmoil going on in the house. I lived in the outside room, so I had some space to some degree but it seemed the expectation was that mum was to do all the chores including the cleaning up of other people’s messes which is unrealistic. I would realize later that some messy environments seemed to be a trigger for my anxiety. I feel like that issue started around the time I got eczema and I guess it had to do with control or lack thereof.

I can’t quite remember the timeline of things but I know sometime in January I headed off to the south island (my first time) to visit my pen-pal, before I had to start tech again. Being quite an anxious person, I didn’t often go anywhere by myself, so it was a huge deal that I travelled by bus and boat all the way to Picton by myself. It was hands down the most terrifying and exciting thing I’d ever done. I had my doctored tech ID with me and even shouted myself a beer in Wellington (the drinking age was 20 then and I was only 18). I think I was gone for a week and a half and I got the train on the way back to Hamilton (which was way cooler than the bus). I remember crying on the train ride home feeling sad about being separated from my friend again. I had had a few boyfriends by then and I’d experienced the fickle teenage dating world. I’d been traded in for a friend, liked boys who liked my friends and felt the hurt of those scenarios but this was different.

When I got back to Hamilton, the chaos was still there but I had reached my breaking point and I said to mum, I need to move out because I can’t handle the madness anymore. She suggested that I live with dad. Perhaps she thought he could use the company or she didn’t think I was ready for flatting.

Once again the time frames are a little hazy but I think this happened after my south island expedition. Me and my friend had a party to go to one night and we decided that day was the day we’d try our first acid trip. We locked my bedroom door and my sister for some reason was on high alert and asked us what we were doing (through the locked door of my outside room). I said we were taking “vitamins”. I would think nothing more of this conversation and off we went on our adventure. I think I had a hipflask of Jim Beam and by the time we got to Pak n Save supermarket to pick up the coke, our trips had fully kicked in. The items on the shelves were watching us and when we got to the checkout there was a strange noise. I whispered to my friend “what’s that noise?”, and she answered “what noise?…. oh that noise”. We were of course listening to the conveyor belt pushing our groceries along. That hands down was probably one of the most fun nights we had. Not because we were wasted but because we enjoyed each others company. I think we enjoyed our adventure walking to the party, more than the party itself.

The next day my dad came over and I was outside talking to him. Mum stormed outside and said “you better talk to your daughter as she’s been taking drugs”. It turns out that my sister had kindly told my mother about the “vitamins” and mum had connected the dots. At this stage, my dad was stll pretty bitter with mum about the separation and he eagerly retorted “well at least she’s not addicted to karaoke”. My mouth just about hit the floor, I had totally gotten away with my “vitamin” experiment. I don’t think I will ever forget that conversation and it still cracks me up 25 years later.

Before long, I had packed up my meager belongings and moved in with dad. I’m not entirely sure how it happened but I asked if my bestie could move in and he said yes. We also brought another friend with us and overnight dad had inherited another two teenagers.

On occasion, dads house would turn into a party house (usually on a Friday or Saturday night). We had half the kids who we used to go to Fraser High with, turn up for parties (slight exaggeration). My dad was officially the coolest dad in town. I used to love it when I’d see my dad talking to some of my mates and hearing them call him by his abbreviated name (not dad). The cool thing was that we all knew each other and there was never any trouble, unlike other parties where there were fights and drama.

I started back at tech in February I think and I tried to find some extra subjects so I didn’t have to study business english by itself. I enrolled in desktop publishing and social science. Thinking back, the word science should of been a giveaway that the class was not for me. I rocked up to the first class of social science and I pretty much needed toothpicks to keep my eyes open. I went straight to the office after the class and withdrew from social science. I had no interest in finding out the different ways pygmies manipulated the soil. It’s probably one of those things I’d find highly fascinating now, amazing how things change. Just like back in the day when I moaned about my parents watching Country Calendar, no doubt.

It must of been mid way through 1996 when I finished my studies at tech. I officially passed business english and got my certificate of office technology, with a desktop publishing qualification to boot. I would not go near any additional education for many years to come.

I had now dipped my toes into the real world but as the saying suggests, it was just my toes that were wet and the rest of my feet were still pretty dry. The actual real world awaited me, now it was time to find a job.

Join me in my next blog where I talk about joining the workforce and entering the actual real world.