8. Teenagers, Oklahoma Schools, and the Little Blue Pill

Way back in December, I was frankly terrified about telling my teenage son the news that we were moving to Oklahoma. We held off for a few days to get him through his final exams. Then we decided to wait until after Christmas, because who wants a Christmas present like that? But somehow kids know, and ours is particularly perceptive. When we sat him down to tell him we were leaving, he was not even surprised. What did surprise him, however, was the location.

But he took it well. So well, in fact, I began to wonder if he wasn’t suppressing or avoiding the emotions surrounding leaving. But then again, teenagers his age would sometimes give anything to redefine themselves, get a fresh start. And there’s a lot of caché in being the new kid. Mysterious. With a different accent. Who dresses like a skateboard punk. Tall and handsome. He’ll be exotic, at least for a while.

So he’s been motivated to work out. He’s been lifting weights and running on the treadmill like a champ, bless him. He’s been asking about Stillwater High School:  how many kids are there? What sports do they offer? What clubs do they have? Are there only white kids there, or is it diverse like at my school? Do they have AP classes? Do they have French classes? What time do they start?

So I called the school and did a little web research. Stillwater High School is not as big as his current school, but it’s not a dinky rural school, either. They will have almost all the course offerings available as here, including AP and concurrent enrollment with Oklahoma State University. The town is more than a little football crazy, but they do offer soccer—which he was planning on trying out for in the fall anyway—and a host of other sports. While the African-American population in Stillwater is rather low, the school is fairly diverse with significant Latino/a and Native American populations, and there are also international populations because of the university. One of my son’s favorite aspects of the new school, however, was the starting time:  9 a.m. This is music to the ears of a nocturnal teenager.

Stillwater’s high school begins at 10th grade, which is also an advantage. Although most of the students will already know each other from junior high, they will all be coming to a new school in 10th grade. My son won’t be the only sophomore lost in the hallways the first few days.

And perhaps the most exciting part for me is the curriculum structure. Stillwater operates on a module-based curriculum, so a student is taking no more than four courses at a time. Periods are 90 minutes long. So what would normally be a semester-long course is covered in a nine-week quarter; a year-long class is covered in a semester. This means that both teachers and students can “sink their teeth into” a topic, and can do more with labs and instruction with the continuity that 90-minute periods provide. As I’ve watched my son progress in middle and high school, I’ve begun to realize that seven or eight courses a semester is extremely difficult for a young teenager to juggle; heck, it would be hard for any of us to juggle. This high school has mimicked in some ways the schedule of a college student, leaving more energy and attention to be paid to each class. Such a progressive and refreshing model! I was pleasantly surprised.

We all know that Oklahoma’s schools have been in the news lately. I watched closely as teachers walked out for nine days, hoping to change the tide in the state house. Success was won hard, but according to an article in Slate today, they have secured “$500 million in school funding and an increase in teacher salary of roughly $6,000 on average, according to ABC News. Legislators also passed a law providing raises for support staff in schools and $70 million for supplies.”

Bravo, Oklahoma teachers. Bravo.

———

But as calmly as my son has accepted the move, I cannot say the same for myself. Anxiety and depression, which have sat behind me like a shadow my entire life, have now become bold enough to sit on my shoulder and whisper, even shout, into my ear. I have been through many difficult times in my life, many episodes of frustration, grief, anger, and despair. But never in my life have I felt so ill-prepared to handle a transition. I was sad the first time I left home at 21 for Chicago, but was so excited to start a new life with all its possibilities. I was equally optimistic when I left for Seattle after grad school (only to end up back in Illinois after a few months, but that’s a story for another time). But now, at middle age, I find myself more anxious and disoriented, resentful, irritable, and sad to be leaving my home of so many years. After spending a few weeks in misery, I finally confessed to a couple of friends that I was feeling despondent. And both of them suggested I talk to my doctor—a simple and excellent suggestion. So I got an appointment right away.

This is the first time in my life I ever considered medication. The tough thing about stress and anxiety and depression is the downward spiral it creates. I sit and look at the list of things that need to be done for the move; I begin to cry because it’s all overwhelming. I beat myself up because I feel unmotivated to do anything—am I lazy? I must be lazy. Which makes me more depressed, because I can’t seem to get un-lazy. All while feeling that nagging fear in the pit of my stomach—what if we can’t sell our house? What if we can’t afford our new house? What if the house isn’t what we want? What if something goes wrong? What if everything gets broken in the move? What if I can’t make friends in Stillwater? What if my son hates his school? And thus, the spiral. The neverending cycle of doom. So, to break that cycle, I must accept that I might need a little help, just for this time. Just to get me over the hump. Just so I can get more than a two-hour stretch of uninterrupted sleep at night. So I can stop the nightmares for a little while.

I am not naïve about medication. I know it won’t solve everything. I know it might come with a long list of side effects, and it’s possible I’ll have to try more than one medication to get it right. I know that it will take weeks to kick in. But I also know that right now I need all the help I can get. Thanks to my lovely friends, I have a robust support network, and there’s always a shoulder to cry on. And now, another tool:  the little blue pill. I feel no shame. It takes a village sometimes, as they say. And sometimes it takes a village with a pharmacy.