From the very first day of kindergarten all the way through high school graduation I was written off —not as the dork or the weird loser or the shy kid in the corner —but just as the one that didn’t really exist. Sure, I had a few friends, but I was never that close to any of them. No matter how hard I tried when I was young I just couldn’t truly relate to the kids in my class so I never clicked in with them. I should also mention I was one of those kids—you know, the weird ones that went to private school from kindergarten through 12th grade—and thus went to school with roughly the same 50 people for 13 years.

The majority of the few people I called friends switched out of our weird uniform-wearing Catholic school system and into the (gasp) real world aka public school system, decided I wasn’t cool and treated me like trash, or just found someone better than plain old me (shout out to the two people that actually still talk to me). Eventually, I came to the conclusion that there must just be something inherently wrong with me. As a result, I was an awkward, lonely kid who spent most of her time reading.

I didn’t mind all that much because I never really felt alone when my nose was stuck in a book. Books would never leave me, the characters would never betray me, forget me. When the last page was finished I could just open up another book and lose myself in whatever world I wished to be in that day. I felt more toward these characters than I did for most people outside my family. And so the real world became my second choice of place to spend my time.

Unlike every other girl in my class, my idols weren’t actresses or singers. They were authors. I felt such a strong connection to the books I read that I started trying to write my own by the time I was seven (all failed attempts, but good effort considering my age). All the miserable experiences in school were fodder for the pain my characters felt in my stories. I filled every boring, lonely moment with conversations the characters might have. Half the time it felt like I was living inside my own head, and it went on pretty much my whole life. Up until college.

Where suddenly I had friends.

Freshman year at Creighton University was a whirlwind of new people and experiences. Suddenly there were people I could actually relate to and wanted to spend time with. Between late night study sessions, classes, and many, many food excursions, there was never a dull moment. I didn’t have time to feel lonely anymore. It was amazing, unimaginable. Rather quickly, my old life fell away. I stopped reading and writing. I actually went to social events with other people. And for a while I was happy doing it. There wasn’t some defect that made me invisible and unable to make and sustain friends. Everything was okay.

Sometime at the beginning of my second semester I started to feel the empty spaces inside me. Instead of taking some time to myself and realizing what was wrong I tried to fill the gaps by spending even more time with friends and throwing myself hard into all the classes I was taking. In retrospect I see how miserable I actually was.

I feel like last year I got to begin the process of letting go of all the things holding me back, which is not in itself a bad thing. But I let myself get swept up in the glamour of it and, inevitably, lost most of the pieces of myself I cherish most. In growing and developing into a new and better person, I left the things that have defined me, that truly matter to me, in the dust. It took me way too long to figure out that I needed a balance. I’d gone from one extreme to the other and I just wasn’t myself anymore. To be honest I hated the majority of the classes I was taking (mostly science courses) and I am just not the type of person who wants to be around others all the time even though I love my friends and couldn't have made it through the school year without them. My advice to any college freshman would be to take a step back and find a good balance. It's okay to leave some things behind, but don't leave yourself too.

So here’s to a brave new year. It’s impossible to tell how it’ll pan out—which is exciting and terrifying— but I’m optimistic. I hope it’s filled with readingand friends.