So, yesterday in the mail I got an invitation from my old High School to the (sic) "25th reunion of the 1978 production of Godspell." It seems they're doing a revival and have invited all the old cast members to a special showing and party. (It also seems they haven't noticed that 1978 was 31 years ago, not 25, but that's my High School for you...)
This invitation upset me. It brought back a lot of memories of that production and of that period of my life. The production aspect wasn't so bad--I never became close to anyone in the cast but that's me for you. Never quite fitting into a group. My best friend was in the band, though, and we had some good times. And I liked the director quite a lot. Sunday rehearsals also gave me an excuse to skip church, which I had never liked going to, but had to go to as my father was the minister.
But that period of my life was a bad one. I was severely depressed and sick most of the time. I hated school--not because of the classes, but because most of my peers treated me with utter contempt and even downright abuse. My family viewed my spiraling depression as...I don't know what. Just me being a bad kid, I guess. I constantly heard I was "not living up to my potential." I nearly flunked out of Physics and that was a sign I was bad, too, not that something was severely wrong in my life.
I started keeping my first journal at that time.
Last night as we were sitting on the couch vegging after dinner, M. asked me, "So are you thinking of how we can get the money to go back to this reunion?" He asked it with a laugh and I knew he wasn't serious but it made me think. Maybe if we were closer to Grosse Pointe and not in such economic distress, I'd want to go. But why? I can't think of one single person from that production that I'd want to see again in real life. Well, maybe one. But that's not enough to make me want to relive the trauma of those days. So why am I even interested in going? Why am I somewhat sorry that I can't?
I had nightmares about being back in High School all night.
M. is back from the store now and I have to go help him unload the groceries, so once again I am left with no answers, only questions. And I leave you with the same.