All the Things I'll Never Say

Introduction

I think sometimes the best course of action is to just take a step back and say, "Well, fuck." I mean, I'm sure there are more eloquent words to describe this situation; I don't deny that. Maybe if I was a middle-aged English professor I'd say something along the lines of, "Dear Lord so high above, I beg you to please have the utmost mercy on my crippled, burning soul in this time of horrible anguish and penetrating desire." However, I'm not a middle-aged English professor, so a colorful vocabulary of swear words and exclamations will have to do. In fact, none of that profile actually fits me so ya know, fuck it. It just so happens I'm only an early-aged, half-educated college student experiencing a mix of teenage angst and unnecessary anxiety. Basically, I'm entitled to feel entitled, and I will exercise all possible control I can have on this situation, even if that means simply yelling "fuck" until the problem shrinks into submission. I think I read about the health benefits of that on the back of a Cheerio's box once, so fuck off. This is a judgement-free zone.

I should probably rewind a bit, so let's go back to precisely 34 days ago. For context, my name is Halley Scott, and I'm currently one semester into my sophomore year at Bridgewater University, a small, private college in a beautiful, suburban city in the middle of nowhere. By "the middle of nowhere," I mean Connecticut, but that's pretty irrelevant. The location of my school often crafts this environment that it's on an island of its own. Bridgewater could be anywhere really, and it suffocates its students with this bubble. All that matters when I'm at school is Bridgewater; the world's problems disappear, and the small day-to-day trivialities of a barely post-pubescent teen are magnified tenfold. It sounds awful, doesn't it? That's the tricky part, because I've convinced myself I love it.

I love throwing my whole self into everything I do, even if it's just because I'm forced to do it by social pressures and mob mentality. I love feeling like I'm drowning, like the world is spinning with Bridgewater-this and Bridgewater-that. Which professor just released applications for a coveted research assistant position? Which club did Billy Harris found this time? Why is the university's president losing his support in the upcoming election? The politics of a totally immersed little society, a microcosm of the world dynamic, are truly mesmerizing. Okay yes, I don't deny Bridgewater and I have a completely toxic relationship, but it's an amazing feeling to lean into my work and let it engulf my entire being. Devotion is a funny thing, because after the decision-making process, it requires essentially no thought. That's exactly what I love about this school. I've entered this thoughtless devotion to it, and it consumes my life in the best way possible. Everyone rushes around the ant farm with the same mentality: get it done, get it done, get it done. And one day they leave the ant farm ready for the real world, buzzing with brilliant ideas and high-paying jobs. I can't wait.

What I'm hoping to give you a sense of is why the tiniest issues at Bridgewater can begin to feel like world-ending catastrophes. This school has a way of pushing students to their limits in every way possible, personal lives included. There are a million thoughts going through my mind at any given second, but if one of them seems out of place or incorrect in any way, I can't help but dwell on it. Everyone buzzes to create a perfect picture, and it's under all these pressures that the smallest infractions demand the greatest attention. Hence, I bring to the table the events of exactly 34 days ago and all following incidents which led to the current state of my mental well-being. Welcome to the life of a teenage girl blessed with an almost blank slate and a dreadfully open mind. Man, life would be so much easier if I had better communication skills and more life experience.

Anyway, I will not procrastinate any longer. This story begins with the same topic as the root of many college frustrations: hookups.

We'd first met during a party at one of the dining clubs. At many colleges and universities, students party in fraternity or sorority houses on campus. Bridgewater decided to be different in that regard because instead of partying in fraternities or sororities, all the students party in dining clubs. The dining clubs are scattered down the same street, College Avenue, and each one is a gorgeous mansion designed specifically for the students' needs. In their sophomore year at Bridgewater University, every student applies to a dining club, and the members ultimately decide who is accepted or denied. Some dining clubs are more highly sought after and are also therefore more competitive. During the day, the dining clubs are where students enjoy meals with the other members of the club, likely gossiping about Trump's latest failed efforts while choking down a piece of freshly prepared chicken. During the night, the spacious basements of the clubs transform into dance floors with free booze and live bands. The only catch is to party at any of the clubs, you must know a member who can either give you a small, cardstock pass or write your name on a list. If that isn't the definition of excess elitism, I don't know what is.