SCHOOL

My grades were failing but I was popular with friends. I’ve now lost all of my mates. My folks put it to me, “How would you feel if the family moved to Frankston?” Without fully understanding the weight of that question I jumped at the opportunity. I was sixteen and had grown up in Bendigo. If it hadn’t been for my poor grades, which caused me ongoing stresses with my parents, life had been pretty grand. How exciting, I thought—new friends, long days on the beach, weekends with my cousins. All three of those optimistic visions of my future turned out to be wishful thinking. My studies became even more dismal; I failed more spectacularly, with only art shining through in flying colours. By the time I hit year ten I had fallen so far behind in the other classes over the years that I was completely lost. The one thing I forgot to consider when mum and dad made their offer was that I had shocking social anxiety—I didn’t make friends easily, and I would be cut off from my Bendigo mates, people it had taken me ages to find. That move was perhaps the worst mistake I had ever made. Today, moving towns wouldn’t faze me, but as a teenager a strong social network meant everything. All I wanted was to go back home, which felt a million miles away. I could only find solace in the dark music I played on repeat. Hours outside of school that I poured into painting.

First day of school. Disastrous. Year ten, Frankston High. I walked to school since I only lived ten minutes away. The first thing I had to do was report to the school coordinator’s office. He introduced me to two fellow students with the idea that these guys would show me the ropes — it was supposedly better to have a couple of people to hang out with rather than be entirely on my lonesome… but only just. It was obvious these two weren’t from the popular crowd. Not that I wanted to be a jock or best mates with the school captains, but surely there was some in-between. I dated the school captain in Bendigo! The fellers were decent enough chaps, just not my sort of people. I ended up making more “friends” through the group my two new buddies were part of. I found a girlfriend, we started going to the movies and doing things after school hours, socialising with more people. It didn’t change anything. I still didn’t want to be around those people.

My best mate from Bendigo would visit from time to time, and each visit felt like Christmas to a child; I would also travel to Bendigo regularly to catch up with my proper mates. Over the years those visits became less frequent as people grew into adults, getting married, having children and building successful careers. I’ve since lost contact with most of them, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I enjoy my own company, value the quiet, and don’t need friendships to make me feel whole.

Anyways, it reached the point where school was making me feel suicidal, and I don’t use that word lightly. I was utterly miserable. I will always remember this: I sat down in math class and was handed a test. I glanced over it and realised I didn’t know a single answer — it was complete gibberish to me. I picked up my bag and walked to the door. “Where do you think you’re going?” said the teacher. I didn’t answer. I was going home, and I knew I wasn’t going back. That moment felt strangely liberating. Now all I had to do was tell my parents. That conversation went better than I had anticipated. They both told me that was fine and that they just wanted me to be happy; they already knew how hard I had been struggling.

To make a long story short, I enrolled in a two‑year diploma course in graphic design and visual communications in the city, and those two years became the best period of my life.