Ever since I was a little girl I had always loved school. From the idea of waking up to the smell of warm pancakes, and running down the stairs to drizzle them in tasty syrup to the excitement of talking to my friends at the bus stop, and even to sitting in a desk with a spelling test infront of me, the days of August to June were my favorite time of year.

My classmates might call it a teacher's pet, but me, I would call it raising the bar. “A” was my favorite letter. 

I found excitement in the days I got to walk to my special spot on the shelf and pick up my packet of tests that my teachers had freshly graded. While for some kids they found joy in homework passes, I found mine in the smell of a fruity scratch and sniff sticker, along with the sight of a colorful marker ink with my favorite letter circled ,and most importantly  the sight of my name Sami McFadden written proudly in perfectly neat handwriting in the top right corner of  the paper.

I was the student that teachers could count on when they left the room, and the type of daughter that my mom and dad never had to worry about if my homework was completed or not.

My hardworking proactive personality continued throughout my school years until one year I felt as if I had hit a wall.

I was sitting at my perfectly white and organized desk with my check list of tasks next to me checking it once and then twice to find out all that had to be completed. I sat there with a blank stare clicking my pen. Click, Click, Click

 “What is wrong with me?” I thought to myself. 

 My head was reading, but my mind was not getting it. I began to feel sick to my stomach.

I continued to make hurtful comments about myself and tear myself down.

“You are failing , this is not you.” 

 I then felt a salty drop of water sliver down my face, then another, and another. Eventually, my checklist was drenched in a puddle of my failure. As the tears continued my heart started to race and my breathing became heavier and heavier. Soon enough I was in full panic mode.

 The voice inside my head got louder, “ Get yourself together, this is easy, you're being dramatic.” My thoughts were interrupted by a sweet calming voice. “Hey honey dinners ready!” My mom yelled. I quickly hopped up and walked over to my mirror. 

Looking at my reflection I took a nice deep breath, closed my eyes, and counted 1…2…3. When my eyes opened I wiped the remaining tears and headed down the stairs.

“ Hi Mom!” I said with a bright smile and cheerful voice. “Hey how's studying going?” she asks in a playful manner, knowing that the answer is always the same, except this time it wasn’t. The voices started to speak up again. “Should I tell her?” “No you can’t, the perfect “A” student would never struggle.” “She can't find out.” With the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, my head was spinning in circles. “Earth to Sam” she says, snapping me out of my daydream. “ It's going great, I only have math to finish and then I'm done for the week” I blurted out in the same energetic way I always talk about school.