I don't believe what anyone said about high school being the best years of my life. I hated high school. Sophomore to senior year is one big blur of bad haircuts, cry sessions with my best friend, and lots and lots of stress from schoolwork. I wanted to walk out of that school, diploma in hand, and never go back. I was ready to go to college across the country. Sadly, I had decided that my town had such a major effect on my high school experience. I told anyone with ears how much I hated Connecticut, and Somers, in general. "I'd rather be out west," was a constant Morgan Knight saying. I would leave for over half the summer to visit family in Nevada and come back just to wait on the next summer to come around.

I don't know why I did it, but I decided that going to Western New England University was my best option. If you know me, you know I'm only about 25 minutes from my house. And, to my great surprise, I loved it. The first semester of my freshman year was unbelievably awesome. I had made great friends, had a work load that didn't stress me out, and was free from judgment. It didn't matter much if I wore jeans or sweatpants to class or if I wanted to wear makeup. I liked being free from those worries and the stress I had experienced in high school. That is, I liked it until second semester happened.

From the day I moved back in in January, I was sad or lonely and I couldn't, and still can't, explain why. I slept too much and I stressed more than I've stressed in my entire life. There were a lot of times where I couldn't bring my self to spend time with anyone, even if I really, really wanted to. I was going home way more frequently than I did in the fall. I started journaling, which is how I realized I enjoyed doing what I'm doing now.

All I know is that there was a night in early May that I was asked to work on a Friday night and gladly took the shift, knowing I could use it as an excuse to get off campus. My mom walked in my room that night, and I cried as soon as I made eye contact with her. I only had a couple weeks left, but I was so ready to come home.

This summer was probably the best of my life. I had missed so much more than I thought. For someone who hated home, I was really growing to love it. In fact, I was okay with coming home after visiting family for the first time in my life. I felt like myself again, which was the best part of it.

I think that the most important thing I learned was that home meant more to me than I ever thought it did. It's possible that I was homesick all along and I just wasn't aware. I missed my friends, my family, the food, and so much more. I realize now that Somers wasn't the worst part of my life at all; it was actually one of the best parts.