I spent my freshman year of college miserable. Way more miserable than I ever led anyone to believe because, when you’re miserable, the only thing that can further your misery is other people knowing just how miserable you are. I was bitter and pissed and sad and disappointed and embarrassed and every other crappy feeling term that falls under the misery umbrella. Why and how did I fall into despair in such a short amount of time? Mere months ago, I was thriving in my senior year of high school. I was happy and excited, as were most of my peers, at the prospect of our futures. Futures that, of course, started with college.

Unlike most of my peers, I had little interest in state schools. I applied to UT more so because everyone else did and not so much because I actually wanted to go there. My heart was set on leaving the nest in a big way. Like in a 1,800 miles away type of way. In the most naively romantic way possible, I yearned to go somewhere different and new and be someone different and new. Brandeis was it for me. Brandeis University was supposed to be the start to the rest of my life. I applied as an English major and the second I received my acceptance notification I started picturing myself strolling through Boston in the fall, stomping on crunchy leaves, sipping coffee from some quirky on-campus place, finding inspiration to become the next Sylvia Plath (minus such a tragic ending). I wanted Brandeis in the most starry-eyed way, but also in the most genuine way. I want to move away from the sheltered goody-two-shoes I had always been. I wanted to go to a school with history and prestige and be challenged in a way I never was before. My heart was there. My soul was there. It was just a matter of getting my body over there.

Long story short: I couldn’t afford it. Despite a little over $30,000 in scholarships, Brandeis cost well over $50,000 to attend. A grand difference. I remember my mother saying to me “Go, if you really want to go, then go.” Which I knew translated to “I can’t afford to tell you yes, but I can’t bear to tell you no.” So there I was, once bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, now heartbroken. Not only did I have to face the reality of having my first big girl dream crushed, I also had to tell people about it, which was even worse in some ways. Listening to other people talk about going to orientation together and decorating their dorms and watching my best friend have his pick of ivy leagues willing to throw big bucks his way was demoralizing. I didn’t blame them for their success and happiness, but I was furiously jealous. Thus, the misery began.

Fast forward to Fall 2014 at the University of Texas at Dallas. I was taking 12 credit hours (barely, because one of them was a freshman seminar course) and I was drowning. Drowning myself, really. I didn’t do the work, I didn’t study and I didn’t try. I went to class (mostly) then went home and hid in my bedroom. I don’t think I said more than 10 words in any of my classes my first semester. Seriously. 10 words might even be too generous. I cried driving home from every late night calculus and chemistry test. That was my life. If ever there was a textbook, check-every-box, meets all the criteria case of depression, it was me. But I was scarily good at hiding it. I think a couple friends knew that I wasn’t too ecstatic to be at UTD, but, for the most part, no one had a clue. I was leading a double life and neither of them felt like my own.

I cannot pinpoint an exact moment or event when things started to change, but thankfully they did. I owe a lot of credit to my freshman mentor, bless her heart, who tried her hardest to get me interested in something, anything. She told me UTD wasn’t her first choice either and when she first started, she was in a similar state as me. But, she told herself it was temporary, just a stepping stone to get to where she really wanted. That is something that has always stuck with me. Overall, I think I eventually realized that this was my life and I had to accept it. These were the cards I had been dealt and it was up to me to play them. There was no epiphany or magical moment when everything fell together. Sometimes it takes nearly flunking calculus and months of being starkly isolated and miserable before you’re ready to do better. And when you decide to do better, you notice things aren’t as bad as they seem. UTD, albeit a little dorky, is not that bad. I’ve had some great classes, brilliant professors, and made some lifelong friends. Is it perfect? Of course not. But odds are, Brandeis would not have been either. Adulting, as much of it is comprised of laundry and savings accounts, is also largely defined as getting through life when it is not all roses and rainbows. So here I am, adulting my way through what I once thought was the end of the world and realizing that 1) I’m dramatic and 2) I was the one holding the miserable umbrella over my head. All I had to do was let it go.