Picture an anxiety-ridden person’s hell— row after row of desks in a gym, each with a standardized test laying on top of it that will determine their future success. The drill sergeant- like proctors cast their eagle eye gaze in your direction, searching for any mistake you make. The poisonous smell of pubescent teenagers hangs in the air of the gym and seeps into every pore of your body. Classmates swarm with their own anxiety radiating off of them like radioactive waste and covering your already stressed body in even more nerves. The bathrooms act as dumping grounds for the toxic material spewing out of all the internally tormented teenagers preparing to undergo the ultimate challenge: the SAT. The toxicity level mimics the town of Springfield^1 with the amount of chemicals that are permanently stuck in the wooden gym. Students hold back tears, burning the already bloodshot eyes from a night of tumultuous “sleep” and from sitting in the stink of the testing zone for so long. But when they can’t be held in for any longer, they gush forward and sizzle on the gym floor from the unbearable heat in the room. The fan blows but to no avail— the fumes that suffocate the students, the mind-melting heat, and the waves of stress are never blown away. The test begins. Pages flip and slice miniscule cuts in the shaking hands of the victims, exposing them to be invaded by germs other than the ones their stressed and weakened immune systems couldn’t stave off during preparation for the test. Mechanical pencils screech against the bubble sheets, sending a ripple of chills throughout the nuclear plantation. All you can do it sit there and stew in your stress until the ten minute break is announced or the time is finally called.

The allowed break provides no release for the tortured students. Instead they finally break under the pressure and submit to the malignant stress that has been building since freshman year. The only relief for many is to subject themselves to a second evil that seems better than slowly fading out of existence due to their overactive nerves. In the bathroom, I watch as people pop pills— Adderall, Xanax, etc— saying they need it to survive this test. I see one of my friends do the same thing and ask why they put that in their body. “I don’t understand how you don’t take them when you’re under this kind of pressure,” she answers in a defeated tone and pops two more. Because testing is what you do for society; self-medication is what you do for yourself. The need to rid yourself of the deadly stress is so great that you subject yourself to even more dangerous chemicals that will continue to pollute you for the rest of your life. Pills of all sizes and shapes are the layer of cement under the house of testing booklets. They are the only things these students have to use as their crutch. But, never rehabilitating an injury— or never learning how to overcome stress without “extra” help— can cripple you for the rest of your life.

1-From The Simpsons (1989); Springfield is the town where the show takes place that is also home to a nuclear power plant that contains harmful and dangerous chemicals. The town is severely polluted to the improper disposal of the nuclear waste.