Why I'm a Prep

*First of all, "prep" isn't exactly how I'd try to describe myself.  Usually I like to leave labels to the FDA and just let people be.  But I definitely have some tendencies I want to address here. Because sometimes my whole life feels like one giant sociological experiment.  
**I'm trying to be as open and honest as I can, without giving out buckets of personal information on the internet.  This is difficult for me, because growing up as I did, the main philosophy I was taught was basically "don't tell anyone anything" and there's a lot of stigma that still exists and a lot of stigma that I, personally, carry with me.  

Let's begin. 
Growing up, I wasn't a prep.  Growing up, the preps were the kids who were mean to me. They were way too cool for me to hang out with. And though you might think that it's simple emulation that led me thus far, it's more than that.  It isn't about them.  It's about me. 
See, growing up, I was also more or less the poster child for "troubled teenager".  Every single stereotypical teenage girl issue you could think of, I probably had.  And I dressed it too.  I had a goth phase.  And a punk phase (to be fair, most of high school).  And I was tough.  My fifteen year old self could probably beat up my 21 year old self.  I mean, I'm mentally tougher, probably, but I'm pretty much a stereotypical girl. I'm not half as hardcore as I once was.  Generally, I obey laws, and the most "troubled" thing I do is a tendency to wander aimlessly around the city at all odd hours when I'm having a rough night.  Which, to be honest, I've always done.  Oops. 
Growing up, my life was a disaster. 
My family was a disaster. 
Everything was a disaster. 
That's the truth.  It isn't easy for me to say these things, because for some reason people find it impossible to think that a little white girl might actually have a rough life.  That's always kind of been the problem.  Adults and authority figures who were supposed to be a safety net for kids with major problems would always glance straight over me, because, well, I couldn't possibly have any troubles or thoughts of my own behind my quiet exterior.  Some people would probably argue that the excessive amounts of studs and black and combat boots were my way of trying to send a sign that I was in a bad place.  I don't buy into that theory, but I'm well aware of it's existence and that is why I choose as a twenty one year old college student, to embody just about every preppy stereotype when I get dressed in the morning. 
First of all- I look damn good in clean cut, British, tomboy-ish clothes.  And second of all, you don't exactly magically leave your problems behind when you graduate high school (it was a let down for me to find this out and more or less why I dropped out during the first few months of my freshman year- in case you were wondering why I'm only a junior. That's why. ) So I got sick of fitting a stereotype.  I started looking as clean cut and country-club ready as possible.  
I am an amalgamation of contradictory stereotypes. I wanted to take the heat off all the punk kids.  
The equation, somewhere in the back of my brain looks like this. 
If I have problems and a look like a punk/goth/emo/whatever than that enforces stereotypes that "those" types of kids are the ones with problems.  This will lead to the continuation of the philosophy that kids who present themselves in high school as somehow alternative, don't actually need help.  Say if they're extremely angry, which, as you should know, is a sign of depression in kids, than the adults in their lives might assume, it is part of their tough-kid act, not a sign of a serious problem. 

I'm not willing to let high school kids with psychological disorders figure it out on their own. 
I have enough baggage from doing just that. 
One of my friends committed suicide.  Save your apologies for her family. I don't want to hear them.  
Because the thing about being a stereotype is, you can always change the way you present yourself.  Everybody knows that.
Yep, even your teenage kid knows. But once you're dead? 
Well, the problem with suicide, isn't it? 
 It's pretty much irreversible. 

Thanks for sticking with my soapbox. 
Love, 
Emme