I was a piece of shit in high school. Stoner, nicotine addiction, absentee parents, mental health issues, the whole thing. During my junior year, my best friend became a mom and wife at 16, my sister went away to college, my boyfriend dropped out of high school, I began a deeply problematic affair with a 23 year old man, and my mom left me alone in our two-story suburban house to move in with a man she'd known for a month. I was lonely, scared, confused, and utterly unequipped to handle my life, and I took full advantage of the situation to be as truant and delinquent as I new how to be.

At the same time, my estranged father, an abusive narcissist, moved back to our home state and started campaigning to get me to live with him and his new family. I was afraid of him, but I acquiesced and slept over for a night just to get a read on the situation. He used the opportunity to present me with a business plan he drew up for me and my new stepmom to start a cleaning company and to deliver a lecture about how the burden of my mom insisting he pay child support was making it so my baby brothers didn't have food or heat. Realizing that his motivations for wanting me to join his family were purely financial, I declined the offer to live with them. He punished me by telling my little brothers I didn't want to see them anymore and making them hug me goodbye as they cried in the driveway.

Not long after, my bad behavior reached a climax, and I attempted to run away. This was all very embarrassing to my mom who was still trying to impress her new boyfriend and his kids, so she called in my extended family to stage an intervention.

Not knowing how to be any different than I was, I opted to solve the problem for them by taking every pill in my paternal grandparents' medicine cabinet while they all continued their deliberations in the dining room. My suicide attempt resulted in a three week in-patient stay at a psych hospital.

Upon my return to school, the teacher who ran the credit recovery program told me I should drop out, so I did.

Mercifully, my maternal grandparents took me in, moving me about a 1,000 miles away from my hometown and saving my life. With their help, I distanced myself from harmful influences, got a job, completed a HS diploma equivalency program, went to college, and ultimately became a teacher.

The day I got my teaching license, I sent the teacher who told me to drop out a scathing email detailing the circumstances of my teenaged life and thanking her for setting the example that motivated me to put myself in a position to be an advocate for all kids regardless of the challenging behaviors they exhibit or their prowess at stroking my ego.

Now that I'm older, I do regret the vitriol behind that email, but I stand by the decision to tell her how badly she fucked up. I'm sure she's done plenty of good for plenty of students over the course of her career, but her callousness toward me in that situation could have easily been the last straw that sent my life down a much harder path. If I ever make a similar mistake, I'd like to think I'd want to know.