As we all know, the Pacific Northwest is very liberal. This is great, don’t get me wrong. However, it does mean that when going to a small liberal arts college in Portland, I must share a gender inclusive communal bathroom. I’m a feminist, and yes, I think the impartial bathroom situation should be acceptable…but I was graced with having my own bathroom throughout my formative years. Basically, that correlates to being really uptight about pooping when other people are present.

“Gasp! Girls defecate?! I thought females had a completely different digestive system than males, so that when they eat, their waste is liquefied into urine!” Common misconception, girls actually excrete from the bowels daily if they have a healthy digestive system…just like guys. Whoa.

Anyway, the inability to poop in peace is only the first of my many fears about entering into the odd and mysterious realm of “college life.” I’m also terror-stricken by the cafeteria and having roommates--not to mention the high intensity classwork.

Confession: I have not eaten in a cafeteria since I was a high school freshman. I joined journalism my sophomore year. The journalism lab was a hidden gem, buried within the hectic atmosphere that constitutes high school. It’s where the misfits (myself included) would eat lunch, chat a bit, work on articles, and get a head start on homework. I mostly kept to my corner of the lab unless approached, munching on my homemade meal while drawing comics or reading a book.

Now, I’m being ripped from my quiet little comfort zone and tossed into a whirlpool of new faces that I have to sit down and eat food near. I am incredibly picky about friends, I only choose a few people after prolonged observation, and I don’t like to rush into friendship too quickly. This is because if I choose wrong, we will eventually drift apart, and drifting is the most painful way to end a bond.

Moreover, I do this involuntary thing where I make sarcastic anti-jokes with a stone cold countenance. It was fine in high school, because my classmates had been familiar with me and my idiosyncrasies since we were young, so they mostly dismissed my abrupt and harsh humor with, “she’s just like that.”

College is different. These people don’t know me, they may misunderstand my intentions; they may speak to me before I’m ready to talk and I'll do or say something really awkward and uncalled for. Here’s a horrifying scenario that keeps running through my mind:

Hypothetical Emotionally Scarring Cafeteria Encounter

Me: Sits down with my food at an empty table in the corner, spreads belongings over all the chairs to deter people from sitting next to me.

Me: Reads book, discreetly looking up and observing my fellow students every few pages.

Another Human Being: Hey! You’re sitting alone! Come sit with my friends and me at our table! What’s your name? What’s your major? Are you a dog person or a cat person?! Tell me your life story!

Me: Packs up belongings while repeating “nope, nope, nope” under my breath, scurries out of cafeteria, sobs.

Yep. There’s another version of that scenario where I put a little sign on my table that says “Please don’t invite me to sit with you. I want to avoid the uncomfortable and inevitable situation where I do end up sitting with you, we decide we don’t like each other after a week, and then throughout the rest of our college years, we make awkward eye contact in classes and at events. You’re not doing anyone any favors, please go back and sit with your friends…I’d rather read this book. Thank you.” Someone comes up, reads the sign, scoffs, and says “b*tch” while walking away.

I’m not trying to be rude or mean or elitist, and it’s nothing personal to anyone. I’m simply aware of how uncomfortable I am to be around, and how uncomfortable I am around most people.

Roommates. I’m sure they’ll be nice, respectable people if campus housing took into consideration my extensive roommate preference form. But perhaps they didn’t. I have failed to actively reach out to them--I know I should be trying to befriend them before we actually have to live together--but that’s just not my style.

Surprisingly, I’m not too frightened about whether we will like each other. My fear lies in the lack of alone time. After a long day of being outside and having to socialize with other human beings, introverts need what I like to call a recharging period, where they can sit alone for a long time and evaluate the interactions they had that day. If I come back to a room full of more people, how am I supposed to recharge? I will be perpetually socially drained, and will lose every ounce of energy I’m expected to give to the people around me, effectively turning me into a grouchy old man who doesn't have time for anyone's sh*t.

Moving on to the most important part of college: classwork. I was in the top 10 percentile of my graduating class. But that means nearly nothing, especially when I’ve lost count of how many students in my class dropped out or flunked.

I’m entering an arena of knowledge, where my classmates will probably be coming from the top 5 percentile. High school was pretty straightforward, and I didn’t have to apply myself much to achieve the most sought after letter in the alphabet, an “A” (except in my AP English 12 class, shout out to Mrs. McDowell for preparing us for the future).

Entering this new arena, I feel practically naked. What if I don’t have the armor and weaponry necessary to harness the dragon of knowledge? What if, instead, the dragon spews flames into my untrained mind, leaving me bewildered and burnt out? Through that convoluted analogy, I’m trying to communicate that perhaps I’m not intelligent enough or ready to take on high level academics.

While I hope you don’t feel the same anxieties about jumping into the college experience, know that if you do, there are others like you…just please don’t approach me if you recognize me on campus. I’m like a spider, I’m probably more frightened of you than you are of me.