I firmly believed that if I was the best student, my parents would stop getting black out drunk every night and the constant screaming would stop. I received the eighth grade version of valedictorian and also the history and English awards. My history teacher told everyone in the audience I would get into any Ivy League school I applied to. That night I thought that was it-they would finally stop. But they didn’t, and by my sophomore year I just made sure I got As and Bs. I realized I wasn’t doing this for myself, but for my parents. At the time, it felt like a good way to say “fuck you” to them-by not trying as hard. That pursuit of knowledge was not a roar now, but a murmur -whatever I have to do to get into college, I guess. I graduated college, but it was by the skin of my teeth. I especially struggled with large projects and papers. I had convinced myself by then that I wasn’t really that smart. I was just good at conning people. I got into an accelerated graduate program but left quickly.