Two years ago, I faithfully relied on the likes of Lizzy McGuire, Angela Chase, Daria Morgendorffer and Charlie (who questionably does not possess a last name in the novel The Perks of Being a Wallflower) to see me through what seemed to me its own entity, a universe in itself: high school.

Not only did I grow up fawning over the beloved T.V. shows and films that glorified high school as if it was its own religion –complete with its own social commandments and deities with pom-poms – I truly believed in what My So-Called Life, Mean Girls, Boy Meets World and Square Pegs advertised. High school seemed like a foreign country where the jocks sat together in their own strategically placed lunch table, the cheerleaders in their own secluded area in the cafeteria and the nerds mingled only with their kind and ate lunch in the chemistry labs. High school was a John Hughes movie, and I had already cast myself in the scene.

And then I actually attended the first day.

I learned quickly my priority was my education. My fellow freshmen continued to fantasize about decorated lockers (which I realized would be useless and in fact a hardship) and planned their outfits out a month before picture day (every year proves disastrous for me, and I’m usually throwing on whatever fragments of clothing that are sprawled on my bedroom floor). I realized high school was terrifying—from the maze of hallways to the sudden downpour of homework and assignments, high school seemed less like a television show where classwork magically doesn’t exist, and it became more like an overwhelming nightmare.

In the spirit of Heathers, the classic 80s high school high school movie about the ultimate mean girls, I assumed Winona Ryder’s character—making friends with the knowledgeable and privileged in the high school hierarchy. And, like Heathers, I failed miserably to conform. Every attempt to adapt to the puzzle I believed school was became fatal. I even turned to the spirit of The Craft and Sabrina the Teenage Witch, tying ribbons to fences for friendship and sleeping with a glass of water under my bed for good luck. However, every attempt at fitting in became a lot more like Awkward and a lot less like Saved by the Bell.

In the end, I’ve learned to accept myself for who I am and to not succumb to the stereotypes presented to me. I’m not a nerd, academic or otherwise, and I’m certainly not a jock. I’m not popular, but I’m not a loner. I hate to sound like an inspirational book on being “yourself,” but in the end, it’s not the worst advice.

A word to all freshmen—high school’s not the utopia that television promotes. Don’t expect candy-colored lockers, singing or dancing of any kind. Don’t expect the weeks of drama-induced hype that Degrassi promotes. High school is a part of life, a chapter in the scheme of things.

I can’t wait for college, though. It’s going to be just like American Pie.