Just a quick warning before I start this, this article is going to be ridiculously sappy and probably quite cheesy. Don't say you weren't warned!

January 2nd was the 200th anniversary of the founding of the Marist brothers, an event that, if you're not Catholic– or, hell, even if you are– probably doesn't really have much of an impact on you. Had I gone to St. Francis Prep, or Mary Louis, or Townsend Harris as my little eighth-grade heart had hoped, it wouldn't matter very much to me either.

However, I didn't like Prep or TMLA when I visited, and I didn't have the grades for Townsend Harris (my entire academic career is a sad, sad tragedy of me being held back by my laziness and the fact I really suck at math), so I went to Archbishop Molloy. And that was where the Marist example was really introduced to me.

I hated grammar school. HATED it. It wasn't like I didn't have friends or anything— I did, and I'm blessed to still call them my friends. But a lot of the kids in my grammar school were jerks. Most little kids are—TV tells you that high schoolers are nasty, but in my personal experience, it's elementary and middle school that's "kill or be killed." I think we were really all just sick of being stuck with the same group of kids.

I was a bit of an oddball, and my social skills were... Not great. But I was content, because, like I said, I had friends, and that made it easy to ignore that nagging little voice at the back of my head. Well, easier.

Plus, I was leaving all those jerkish cookie-cutter kids behind in a few months anyway, so what did it matter? I was free to start over, to maybe be popular (Oh, eighth-grade me, if you only knew popularity is both subjective and highly overrated), to add to my small circle.

But then, as fate would have it, my little group of friends was separated by different school choices, and as previously stated, I didn't have much in the way of social skills. So making new friends was a lot more difficult than I had originally anticipated, which made it a lot harder to ignore those voices at the back of my head. Which in turn, made it even harder to make friends, because I was convinced I'd automatically be rejected.

I went home crying a lot. Because-- I am way, way more sensitive than I'd like to admit. It really sucks.

My first real Molloy experience— that experience of the Marist caring about everyone, that 'Non Scholae Sed Vitae ' (Molloy's motto, which is Latin for "Not for school but for life"), that kindness, was when one of the TAs, Mr. Rizzotti, took pity on my clearly lonely little self and had me sit with the softball girls. Who were all really nice– but not my kind of people. I needed to find my "tribe," if you will.

And I did.

The first club I joined of my own free will was the Molloy literary magazine, which is still run by KK, who is easily one of my favorite humans. KK is a quiet man, very deep and intelligent, and extremely spiritual. He puts you at ease when you're around him and I think he's really the source of lit mag's laid back nature.

That's what really made me join, I think— I've always loved to write, but that kind of go-with-the-flow feeling I got from lit mag made it really easy to join. The kids were also my kind of people, too— it was a mix of nerdy types with, what my friend Shoma likes to call, "f-ckboys with feelings," but deep down, all the regulars had the same creativity and intellectual curiosity.

I didn't share my work for the majority of freshman year, but when my new friend Kirsten, a senior who I viewed as something of a writing senpai, suggested that I should, I pushed aside the little voice in my head that said that my work sucked, that everyone was going to laugh at me behind my back, and read. And, surprise, surprise, my work was actually fairly well received, and sharing it actually improved it instead of making it worse. What a shock. In what I like to think of as my first, 'Non Scholae Sed Vitae' lesson, I learned that taking risks are important, and that letting fear hold you back is really, really stupid.

I don't remember much of sophomore year lit mag, but I remember junior year really, really well. For three reasons: one, it was the first year I actually participated in the lit mag poetry slam; two, it was the year lit mag got INTENSE with the debates; and three, it was the birth of the think tank.

I talk a lot. That's putting it lightly, and it's probably one of the few things that hasn't changed from grammar school. But, after two years of being practically mute, by junior year, I was ready to start fighting everyone.

And, since 2015 was a particularly intense year, both in the real world and in terms of lit mag, that was the year of the arguments. And, tying into number three, it was only natural that'd we'd seek out another place to argue. Thus, the think tank.

The think tank was born when a senior boy started coming into KK's room during his afternoon free period to talk about politics and comic books. Eventually, he was joined by other junior and senior boys, and it kinda became a pseudo-club. A reminder of Molloy's past days as an all boys school, as they crowded around KK's desk, debating and arguing about things big and small.

The think tank kind of intimidated me at first. I wasn't sure why then, and I'm still not sure why now. Probably just general social anxiety baggage. So, for a couple days, I'd just peer into KK's classroom like the little match girl.

But, since 2015 could also be called "the year Alix got back to being obnoxiously loud and talkative," I decided to throw caution to the wind and enter the room. I mean, I knew most of these boys from lit mag, and they were cool guys– sure, Vin, the guy who started it, was kind of a know-it-all, but even so, he was still interesting and fun to argue with.

And, lo and behold, it wasn't nearly as scary as I thought it was going to be. In fact, it really wasn't scary at all— it was fun, and the guys weren't so bad. Even Vin turned out to actually be a really awesome, sweet guy, and we became friends. Thus, I learned another important, 'Non Scholae Sed Vitae' lesson: there's more to people than you think there is, and you shouldn't let you or your friends' past perceptions of them completely define them. People have a way of surprising you.

Senior year, I was given the honor of being a lit mag leader, along with three other really talented and awesome writers. Funnily enough, Sean, one of the other leaders, and I actually went to grammar school together but never spoke. It wasn't until we got to Molloy that we became friends. Tying into the above lesson of letting people surprise you.

Lit mag wasn't the only place in Molloy that taught me valuable lessons.

Because I was so miserable freshman year, room 207-A quickly became where I spent most of my time. Brother James Norton, my former guidance counselor, is a very blunt man, who will give it to you straight. He's also one of the kindest souls I've ever had the pleasure knowing. He himself probably taught me the most important lesson of all: "The future doesn't exist." It's still something I'm struggling to learn, but I've gotten better at it.

So, anyway, one day in freshman year, I was sitting in his office. I was probably crying, but I don't remember.

Brother looked at me, blue eyes serious behind his glasses. After a moment, he said: "Alix, I'm going to talk to Mr. Dougherty about getting you involved in SMILE." I blinked. "Um, OK."

A little backstory: my father had been in SMILE, back when Brother Leo was still running it in the late '70s. My dad didn't have the most ideal home life, and that's putting it lightly. I didn't have those struggles, so I was kinda surprised Brother thought I belonged in SMILE.

SMILE's a lot more than I originally thought it was.

So, one rainy morning, I got a note in homeroom telling me to go to room 304. Room 304, also called the Cave, is a tiny, colorful little hole in the wall, which really takes you by surprise if you've never been in it before.

So, picture it: It's raining, it's early in the week and around 8:50, so no one actually wants to do anything, and the vast majority of people in the office are tired and look half dead. Not Doc, though. He beamed at me and was so effortlessly cheerful and friendly when he told me I'd be meeting with a group of kids every other Monday in his office that I couldn't help but instantly despise him.

And so, the second club I joined at Molloy was the result of coercion. Fourteen year old me was not happy.

For the vast majority of freshman year, I hated Doc. Because of him, I had to do things and socialize, when I would much rather be at home, content in my own misery and feeling sorry for myself. That isn't a very good way to be, though, so after a while, the incessantly cheerful, friendly bald man on the third floor started to grow on me.

And it was kinda nice, having a place where I could go to talk about my feelings. I met some really nice people too, and actually made some more friends. I think during sophomore year, maybe towards the end, I started going to SMILE Weekly, the "public" face of SMILE that's open to everyone, which contributed to me getting back to being the loud, obnoxious little know it all I am on the inside. Truly, a beautiful thing.

Most of my really fond high school memories are from SMILE and the Cave. I talked to and became friendly with a lot of people I probably otherwise wouldn't have spoken to if not for Doc, so I'm grateful for that.

I really don't know how to segue into the next part. It's a problem that comes when your brain moves a lot faster than your mouth or fingertips.

I used to cut myself.

It's something I mainly did junior year, when I was "dumped" via Facebook message by one of my friends —— funny story, my friend Victoria was later "dumped" by her too, which strengthened our bond, so it's whatever, because I got to be closer with an awesome person because of it. But at the time, it really sucked, and kinda validated all those voices in my head.

I struggled with self-harm my last two years of high school, on and off. Like I said, it was mostly junior year, with a few slip-ups.

I remember being scared. Scared of being thought of as a freak by my peers, scared of disappointing Doc and Brother, and KK, and my therapist, and my parents. Mostly Doc, because by that point I kinda had started to view him as another parental figure.

As it turned out, my fears were unfounded. My friends didn't think I was a freak— I even reached out to one of them when I was going through a rough time and thinking of cutting again, and wonder of wonders, it really helped me. It was nice, having a peer to talk to (at that point, I was a senior, and I kinda felt like I was supposed to be the one people turned to, you know? So it was nice knowing I still had that.)

And Doc and Brother weren't disappointed— worried, maybe, but not disappointed, I don't think.

The whole Molloy community is kinda like a mom— they'll lecture you and stuff, but for the most part, it's because they care and they're worried. There are exceptions, of course, but that's how the majority is.

And, I still have that. It's still home, even though I really love St. John's and college in general (Woo hoo for no uniforms and pretty much being able to do whatever you want!).

And it'll always be my first second home, the first place I really felt like I could be myself.

I did warn you this was going to be sappy.