So I'm going to my high school reunion

I’ve decided to go to my 40th high school reunion on the western side of the state. It will happen on Saturday. I’ve been to two of them in the past. I had to force myself to go. You see, high school was not a good experience for me.

It happened in the beginning of my sophomore year. This was back in the day when it was optional for a student to have a combination lock on their hall locker. I chose not to have one, which was a mistake.

I kept my sack lunch in my locker. I had no idea that such a simple decision would prove to be so costly. Someone placed angel dust (also called PCP) in my lunch. A classmate of mine mockingly told me about it a couple of weeks after it happened.

If you are not familiar with this drug it is something that a person should avoid at all costs. My understanding is that it can cause hallucinations, violent behavior, seizures, coma or even death. All of this depends upon the amount of the drug and how an individual reacts to it.

Early on, my body would shake uncontrollably. At night, my teeth chattered. It was difficult to move my eyes. I cannot tell you how often I would cry myself to sleep.

My brain “went numb.” I couldn’t think straight. My coordination was a mess. This didn’t just go away and seemed permanent to me.

Immediately after I learned what had happened I went directly to a school counselor. I was sobbing uncontrollably when I entered his office. I could barely get the words out of my mouth. To my amazement, he didn’t believe my story. (Years later, I talked to the principal, who was there when I was a student. He said he deeply regretted that none of this was ever reported to him).

My mother called the police. They visited me and I told them the name of the student who delivered the news to me. They questioned him. He said he knew nothing about it, and that was that.

I felt hopelessly alone in my pain. Every waking moment, from that point on in school, was a great challenge for me. Learning became much more difficult. I had a lot of dark moments. I tried to take my life twice, but I didn’t have the guts to follow through.

I had to quit playing basketball. My coordination suffered, my confidence was shot, and I could no longer handle being mocked by opposing players and people in the stands.

Many years ago, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I won’t go into detail here, but the recurrent, ingrained, haunting nightmares were violent and remained for decades. I was absolutely stuck and couldn’t set this aside no matter how hard I tried.

I have to work through it. I need to forgive, put this to rest, and move on. So, I now choose to face my demons.

Editor’s note: This story will continue next week.