The same 10 songs replayed in my brown Buick Verano, and my navy blue Beats headphones, and again in room 184 through my iMac speakers during yearbook deadline day. Dirty clothes, hangers, and the occasional missing assignment now litters my once perfectly tidied room. My Apple Watch I spent a year saving for now lays face down on my nightstand with a forgotten charger lost in the pile on my floor. The to-do list is full of yearbook stories I haven’t started, AP Calc homework and test retakes, and the never-ending presentations for AP Lang. A routine, once consistent, now falls apart, always forgetting about my medicine, assignments, or obligations that slip my mind. My schedule fills itself with school, work, yearbook, and sleep that never feels long enough. 

Unlike the two years prior, I feel overwhelmed with everything I’ve signed up for and the classwork that once was easy now takes days to complete and always ends up with me begging for answers.

“Junior year is the worst year,” everyone told me, but never did I believe them.

Now, I can’t get a full night’s rest, my to-do list never empties, and I have my first ever 78%, and I couldn’t care less. 

As a sophomore in AP Psychology, I saw my first glimpse into AP classes. Taking the “easiest” AP test, according to every AP teacher, and scoring a five after only a few weeks of studying. 

Although my other classes, like Human Anatomy and AP United States History, have been relatively simple to do well in, staying motivated to actually finish out my junior year is harder than I anticipated. 

It’s deeper than not being “smart enough” or being “lazy.” Being burnt out at 17 is something no one can prepare you for.

As 2025 creeps up, it finally hits me that I graduate in three semesters, I apply for college in one year, and I start college in a year and a half. 

While working with my Y-Care elementary kids everyday from 3-6, it finally hit me that I will never be their age again, experiencing milestones like the sixth grade graduation I didn’t get because of COVID-19. I will never get my first phone ever again. I will never be in seventh grade, starting journalism for the first time, ever again. I will never meet my favorite teachers ever again. I will never discover my love for writing, or psychology, or photography ever again. 

As semester one comes to an end, I realize I will never be a junior ever again. I realize that I will never be procrastinating on my homework to write a story for my school newspaper ever again. I realize that, after this year, I will be a senior. I will apply to my dream college. I will move into a dorm, and start college classes, and I will become a physical therapist. 

Despite everything negative about being a high schooler, I will never get to be a high schooler ever again. I will never be able to spend countless hours in yearbook ever again, or draw with chalk with my favorite fourth grader ever again. 

I will never be able to relive my life ever again.