If I Were Real

So I'll just come right out and tell you because you're not here and it won't seem like I'm giving you an unbearable burden by letting you know that I have actual, real-live feelings: When I came to this place, I had no idea what I was getting into. It's just. so. hard. And not hard like writing papers was hard as an undergrad, or hard like work can be hard sometimes, but hard like I might not be able to do this. I know I can do the work, but why do it at all? I often forget that I'm a real person, and that other people know I'm a real person, and that somewhere, someone in the world actually cares that I'm a real person.

What I miss most of all about having close friends around is that reminder that I'm alive, and that I really am the way I think I am. Being alone so much of the time leaves me almost entirely without a sense of self, which is made more difficult since I'm also trying to figure out who I am without my father and my religion. It's difficult not to be self-absorbed here, but those times when I'm most focused on others are the times I start to lose touch with reality. This place is not reality. I will be gone in four months and probably never see anyone here again.

And yet...