I’m not sure how to begin to say goodbye to the two entities that have defined and shaped me into the person I am right now. Without Central High and The Register, I’m entirely certain that I would be lost. And not nearly as awesome.

All jokes aside, Central High is difficult to categorize. A Crown Jewel, a Melting Pot, an Eagles’ Nest—it’s a mess of contradictions and history and beauty, of old and new and hopes and dreams. It’s a hugely ancient anchor that I’ll be tethered to for the rest of my days.

I grew up here—not necessarily within Central’s walls, but during my time with this place (and all of the exceptional and awful things within it) I have learned how to be myself. How to question, how to connect to people, how to survive, how to write and work hard and have fun. It’s been an adversary, a friend, a teacher and a challenger. Within these walls I have gained and lost friends, failed and succeeded and ultimately become an adult.

It is said that high school isn’t for everyone. I’m fortunate enough to be the type of person who has thrived in this sometimes toxic environment. I’ll be honest and tell you that I won’t miss the pep rallies or the crappy bathrooms or the massive exodus of kids from the courtyard after lunch or the mice in the journalism room. But I can say that I will miss this place more than even I can anticipate. The senior class may be eager to move on, but each of us will harbor a strange love for these walls (or maybe I’m the only prematurely nostalgic one).

The Register has been my biggest high school accomplishment. An investment, a passion, a foe, a life force despite its ability to absolutely drain me—similar to Central, my experience with this publication has been a total contradiction. I can say with honesty that I both love and hate it.

As a freshmen I was disgusted with the paper, and I vowed, in an offhand and not at all profound way, to make it better. But there was some sort of power to my words—surprisingly enough, I did just that. As a sophomore I jumped into Journalism 1 and fell into fascination, and from there I joined The Register as a staff writer.

 With the new semester we received a new advisor (Hillary Blayney) and mentor (Ali Hodge) and together the small staff of less than 10 worked to revamp the paper. Promoted after only a semester of experience to Executive Editor, I spent my junior year learning to balance reporting, design and staff coordination. It almost killed me, and for some reason I loved it.

This year I eagerly assumed the top position of Editor-in-Chief, and my goal has become to both modernize The Register and restore it to its former glory (check out some archived issues on the CHS Foundation’s website). I can confidently say that I have given myself over to the life of this extremely old paper (it was first published in 1886)—but it has given me much in return.

One usually finds a niche in high school, defining his or her self as a choir kid, an athlete, a mathlete, a JRTOC kid, a band kid—my spot is in the basement, in the never-clean room 029 under the yellow flickering lights. I cannot communicate to you the time I’ve spent laughing and crying and cursing and working and (somehow) improving in that space. I’ve watched timid staff writers grow into confident leaders, I’ve witnessed passions blossom, and above all I’ve felt myself grow through mistakes and victories. In hindsight, it’s miraculous how The Register has changed me—all while I was bent on changing it.

Becoming a student journalist taught me how to talk to people, how to hold my own, how to choose my battles, how to make it all work and when to challenge the norm and take risks. It heightened my curiosity, developed my organizational skills, amplified my interest in world affairs and gave me an exciting goal for the future.

We have a lot of fun in the basement. You may not realize that we often have to buy the objects that we use for graphics (I’ll never forget the pregnancy tests we had to coerce a few sophomores to pee on, the condoms that a photographer and I had to extract from their colorful wrappers and photograph on the sidewalk in the middle of winter, the handcuffs with a tiny key we tried really hard not to lose), or the amount of macaroni and cheese we consume every week (of which I try not to partake), or just how dirty the floor is, or how many times we yell “Blayney!” every day (she really is a second mom).

You can’t know how tired I am of hearing about that popcorn fire (a huge black mark is still on the wall in the back room, for those of you who are curious) or just how many times I’ve gotten dizzy from staring at a computer screen in 029 past 7 p.m. (the custodians and I are best friends by now). You can’t know the feeling that comes with putting out a new issue and hearing it compared to professional publications, or how it feels to watch a freshman staff member excitedly examine her story on the front page. Satisfaction seems an inadequate word to describe my feeling toward how far The Register has come in the past three years. Regardless of my frustration and exasperation with it, I am honored every single day to be its Editor-in-Chief.

As I near the end of my time here, I’m tired just like every other senior. I’m ready to publish this last issue and hand the power over to those who have proved themselves through back breaking work, just as I did. I’m ready to go to Indiana University and take the next steps to becoming the journalist that I so desire to be. Hopefully you’ll see my work in The New York Times or hear my name on NPR someday.

To the student body: I hope I’ve served you well. Keep reading The Register and helping us to improve it. Without you, none of this would be possible.

To my staffers: I’m so proud of you. Allow your passions to grow and pursue your ambitions wholeheartedly and never let high school get you down. It’s been such an honor working with and hopefully inspiring you, and I hope that you choose to uphold the quality of The Register and improve it even more than I was able to. I’ll try my darnedest to make you proud. And I’ll be back.