Audrey McLain’s pre-college life included a long list of incongruous activities: getting straight A’s, alcohol bingeing, performing in professional operas, running away from home, working full time jobs, snorting cocaine and being president of the National Honor Society. It’s not a set of characteristics you expect to find in one teenager. That’s why, when she sat down to write her personal memoir, she had quite a story to tell.

McLain, a Medill sophomore double majoring in journalism and biology, spent the summer of 2008 away from friends and distractions writing her approximately 350-page book. She is currently doing a second revision on her yet-untitled memoir before submitting it to literary agents in hopes of a publishing contract.

“[Writing it] was therapeutic; it helped me a lot emotionally,” said McLain. “But it was extremely painful to write. It was not really a fun process.”

Audrey McLain. Photo by Sean Gordon-Marvin / North by Northwestern.

Growing up in Cincinnati, McLain faced just about every hardship and frustration a child could face. McLain grew up without a father, had an alcoholic and physically abusive mother, was depressed and anorexic and used drugs, while still maintaining good grades.

“When you’re raised in an abusive household, you become controlling of your surroundings,” she explained. “Doing well in school was something I could control, just like my eating disorder.”

Until she was six, McLain lived with her mother in a woman’s shelter. But even living on their own was unsafe; McLain recalled that once her mother managed to almost burn down their apartment. Without parents to support her, McLain started finding ways to make money as soon as she could. She was babysitting at the age of 12. She went to a performing arts high school and found a way to use her love for singing—she performed in her first professional show when she was 12 and her first opera when she was 14.

In eighth grade, she ran away from her mother and went to live with her grandparents. But she didn’t get along with them—they were wealthy and maintained a stable household, something McLain was not used to. Without the need for her survival instincts, McLain became rebellious. She attempted suicide four times between the ages of 13 and 17.

During high school, McLain finally found a way to cope with her hardships—excessive partying. She moved out of her grandparents’ house and in with her 22-year-old boyfriend and did most major drugs before turning 17. “Drugs in Cincinnati come in waves, so one week it’d be cocaine all the time, or special K all the time,” she said.

But throughout the adversity, drug abuse and lack of familial support, McLain managed to accomplish more than most of us did during our comfortable, sober childhoods. Not only did she succeed academically, she also worked a full-time job, continued singing in theater productions and was accepted into Northwestern—on a full ride, nonetheless. This was while being “wasted all the time and out of control,” McLain said.

“She’s brilliant without any common sense,” said Makayla Burck, who has been friends with McLain since fifth grade. “She’s very driven to do anything she wants.”

By the time McLain got to Northwestern and sat down with Medill Lecturer Mark LaMet to discuss her freshman experience, he insisted that she put her turbulent, yet intriguing life down in writing.

“I was like, eh, I’m 18 and not equipped to write a book,” she laughed. But LaMet encouraged and mentored her, and promised to oversee the whole process, while taking care of the publishing and technical details.

While McLain was at first hesitant to write the book, she hopes it will help people who find themselves in the many difficult situations that she faced. “I wanted to show people in my position that it was possible to make it out and be okay and make something of yourself,” she said.

She emphasized her independence and her desire to “get out” of her old lifestyle as the main drive behind her work ethic. “[I was not in] a safe or healthy environment,” she said. “A lot of it was wanting to survive, and I realized what I had to do at an early age.”

What she had to do was make it into college and get ahead in life—all on her own. As described by McLain, the change of scenery from her hometown to Evanston jump-started her transition to a cleaner, more focused and productive lifestyle. She is still doing well academically, and as Medill students and biology majors can attest, maintaining sanity in these competitive tracks is as hard as maintaining a high GPA.

After the initial culture shock, McLain has become very happy at school here. She continues to write poetry and journal, and is a member of the Significant Others a cappella group. “Northwestern has been a haven; it really saved me in a lot of ways,” she said. And while Northwestern was an ultimate goal for her, McLain says she recognizes that being here has opened her eyes to a bigger picture.

“I kind of had tunnel vision in high school and everything was about working… to escape my past,” she said. “Northwestern helped me get away from being so about me and my precarious mental state.”

This was punctuated by her incredible composure and light-heartedness while discussing some of the most difficult times in her life with a complete stranger. Although McLain claims she isn’t always comfortable talking to people about her past, she is more confident in her ability to write about it.

“I didn’t write it for my personal gain, and I wasn’t wild about writing it to begin with,” said McLain. “But I grew a lot as a person and gained a lot of insight.”

The manuscript has not been submitted to publishing agencies yet, but those who know her best are sure the book will do well. “She deserves it,” said Burck. “After all, she’s been through more than anyone else.”

The following is an exclusive excerpt from the upcoming book, courtesy of McLain.

As I sat waiting to be processed, I watched the other kids in their cerulean jumpsuit uniforms pass me. When they saw me looking at them they responded with this obdurate stare so hard it made me feel like they could break me just by looking. It didn’t scare me, but there was something about it which struck me as very poignant because it seemed so unfair that someone would ever have to endure the kind of things that could cause them to become that callous or impervious. And then I realized that I probably had the same look in my own eyes.

“Audrey?” a man asked as he approached me with a clip board in hand.

“Yes?”

“There’s some paper work we need to fill out together. Do you want to follow me over here?” he asked, pointing down the hall. I followed him to a more secluded area and we sat down across from each other.

He asked me the generic list of questions about my past: Did I get along with my parents? Did I have any contact with my father? Why didn’t I live with my mother? Had I ever been physically or sexually abused? Was I currently being physically or sexually abused? Had I ever tried to commit suicide? Was I suicidal now? Had I ever been in the juvenile detention center before? Did I abuse alcohol? How often? Did I abuse recreational drugs? How often? Did I consider my use a problem?

“And how is your performance in school?”

“I have a 4.0,” I responded indifferently. “Last time I checked I was number one in my class.” The man raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

“Are you planning on going to college?”

I brusquely responded in the affirmative as I crossed my arms over my chest, offended that he would assume otherwise. There was nothing that made me more livid than people who automatically correlated my unruliness to stupidity. “I’m going to go to an Ivy League as far away from here as I can possibly get.”

He let out a very heavy sigh. “Audrey, what are you doing in a place like this?”

“You tell me,” I muttered sardonically. “I’m well aware that having had a warrant out for my arrest isn’t going to look particularly stunning on my college applications. I didn’t realize the repercussions of what I was doing and I’m really, really sorry,” I pleaded.

“You’re obviously a very bright girl.” He deliberated for a moment, tapping his pen on the clip board. “Look, you’re lucky and we’re not going to keep you here. You’ll have the opportunity to expunge all of this from your record. I suggest you go home with your grandparents, appreciate what they’re giving you and what you’ve been blessed with, and stay out of any more trouble.”

I humbly nodded my head and earnestly looked into his eyes.

“I’ll try my best,” I said. I stood up and shook his hand and thanked him for his kindness.

Once I turned my back on him and headed down the hallway toward the exit, I couldn’t stifle it any longer. I walked out of the building laughing maniacally, a triumphant grin on my face and a Machiavellian glare in my eyes, fully knowing that this was only the beginning.

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