If you’re reading this, then you’re probably someone I know personally who is supportive of my writing, or another student who just finished their freshman year of college, too. Either way, I apologize for what is about to be an extremely clichéd few words.

I was the last of my friends in my dorm to leave school to return home following the end of our first year of college. My roommate left at 7 or so, and by 9 I already felt like I was going crazy from sheer loneliness. I suppose, though, living in a dorm with a communal bathroom for eight months will do that to you.

I went over to another building to hang out with a few friends that night, and after a few hours and a horror movie, I was tired but not ready to sleep, partially due to the horror movie and partially due to how active my mind was at the time in general. I began to think, which is never a good idea when you’re alone and it’s 4 a.m.

I began to think about all the friends I made and how I met them, and at what point I considered them to actually be my "friends." I thought about the person I was when I came into that room on August 18, 2015, and the person I was then, on May 13, 2016. I thought about my professors and what they taught me.

The funny thing about change is that you only realized it’s happened in retrospect. I didn’t feel myself evolving over time, it wasn’t something that I woke up to at night with a pain in my side. I didn’t have growth spurts and I certainly didn’t feel like I was smarter all at once, but it still happened. It’s a gradual thing that happened regardless of whether or not I asked for it, and it was rarely pretty.

I arrived at school a shy, bumbling fool who only had a few friends, five of which were only dropping me off for the day and then leaving. My parents, my sibling, my boyfriend at the time, and my roommate, whom I was lucky enough to know before moving in. I knew on move-in day that the next day, on August 19, I would only have one friend that would really make a difference when I needed it on a second’s notice. Lucky for me, she was always there, and still is, and we’re living together again next year.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m still a shy, bumbling fool, but I feel like now I can be my own person in a functional way. I remember very distinctly that I had to be cajoled into just going up to the orientation booth I was so nervous that first day, but now with a few exceptions I don’t need anyone to hold my hand anymore. I still have help, but I’m no longer dependent.

Speaking of dependency, I got dumped. I had to deal with it. Even though at the time I swore I would never feel okay again, I did. I’ve always considered myself to be an independent woman, but breakups kick ass whoever you are, and I had to deal with not having that person there for me all the time even though he had been for the last year of our lives. But I survived and moved on.

In addition to the material I was paying exorbitant amounts of money for each semester, I learned from my professors how to be critical of myself in the best way possible. I learned that it’s okay to make mistakes, because anything that’s worth your time doing is worth more than one try, no matter how frustrating it is. In addition to the work that came out of those mistakes, it paid off in the form of a nicely written note on my English essay and one of my professors telling me at my final critique that she had a great time with me.

Speakers will tell you at freshman orientation that you’re going to meet the people you’ll be friends with for the rest of your life in school, and no one believes them at first, but they’re absolutely right. At least I hope they are. I really do.

Despite all this, though, I felt a kind of homesickness that I hadn’t felt in months as I was sitting there alone in my room thinking about the past year.

I was listening to grunge (strangely enough, what I listened to growing up) and playing a game on my laptop that I had bought that I used to play constantly when I was little (yes, I was an 18-year-old playing Pajama Sam) before I even knew what that meant.

Sure, I appreciated the opportunities I had, and the things I learned, and the way I grew, and the people I met- but I wanted to go home. I wanted to sleep in my own bed and not have to wear shoes in the shower and not have to worry about how much money I had to eat.

I needed to come home for a little while.

I’ve been home for six hours now, and I’m in my bed, and I took a shower barefoot, and I ate a nice dinner my mom made.

I can’t wait to do this again next spring.