Pennants from every college under the sun line the walls as I sit in my study hall. Each triangular point feels like an eye, staring down at me and sending pressure with its gaze. Everyone told me that actually filling out my applications was the most stressful part, but I beg to differ. The anticipation of waiting and not knowing is far worse than writing an essay and answering a question.
My chest is in a constant tightness that squeezes the life out of my heart and deflates my lungs. Every email sends a red alert to my brain and I shut down for a minute or two. I can’t stop myself from imagining each admissions officer reading the pages of my application and trying to put me together.
They don’t know me and that’s the problem. They should know me. I should been able to write myself well enough that they can see who I am. I keep telling myself that and every time I do, my breath catches in my throat. It’s unrealistic, that I think they can know me, who I really am. And yet I still feel their eyes staring into my soul, judging every piece of who I am. Debating whether or not I am worthy enough to be admitted, if I am good enough to make it in.
Maybe I’m being overdramatic and am narrowing my focus onto the minute details in order to distract myself from the reality that life is going to be in the coming months. Maybe I’m not being dramatic enough and am setting myself up for a disaster that I can’t even possibly imagine. Or perhaps I just take things too personally and have a tendency to overthink. Either way, the anticipation is killing me.