I'm spilling as much of my guts as I can here because I don't know how to express my feelings properly. I know I don't really share a lot about my personal life, but I think I'll be okay saying this.
I left the university I enrolled in last year in February. I simply couldn't take it anymore; I was stuck in a big, quiet, empty dorm room all by myself with very little friends and primarily online classes (which was really stupid considering I was paying all that money to live there). It got to the point where I became severely depressed and lonely. Getting out of bed was a struggle because I saw no point in it. I had no one. The only people that cared about me were gone, if not by my going away then by their going away. I felt like I couldn't talk to my "friends" on campus because they just wouldn't really understand. I'm sure they'd be really upset if they heard that I never considered them real friends; maybe it's just because I'm a bad person. I don't know.
In the end, it took a failed Public Speaking speech (by which I mean I didn't turn in my prompt in time) for me to snap and call my mother to say I wanted to leave. I went home that weekend and had a talk with my parents, who were surprisingly supportive, and I was all packed up and heading home for good on Valentine's Day.
Leaving that place was the best decision I've ever made.
There was a part of the university that made it somewhat bearable: the marching band. I admittedly didn't like it, mostly because it felt like more of a job in college than it had in high school. High school marching band was so much more fun, but I can't really put into words why. The friends I did make at the university were almost all in the marching band, and I made especially good friends with the drum major and two directors. Those three were a lot like role models to me, or something like that. About a week after band camp last year was when I guess I started showing signs of depression. I went to the band directors and told them, on the verge of tears, that I felt I needed to quit. After just a moment of encouragement from the both of them, I relented and decided to stick it out for the year.
Of course, that was before I realized how much worse college marching band was than high school marching band. And it hurt to face that, because band and music had been such huge parts of my life for as long as I could remember. I couldn't just leave, especially after having already talked about it to my directors.
So I stayed, albeit reluctantly.
Now fast-forward to today, tonight to be more specific. I was on Facebook scrolling through the marching band page's timeline (yeah, I know), and I decided to just go through the photos and look for any of me. Y'know, out of curiosity. I went through over 200 photos from this past school year.
Aside from the full band shots from the press box, I was in none of them.
That made me tear up for some reason. I thought I hated that place. I did hate that place. I was alone and miserable there.
But when I put on that uniform, I was somebody. Despite losing the connection I'd had in high school, there was still a sliver of joy and satisfaction I got out of marching with that band. If anything, that was the only good thing I found in that godforsaken place.
And now there's no proof I was ever a part of it.
I exited out of the window and wiped my eyes. Then I smiled sadly and said to myself over and over, "It's okay. You never belonged there, anyway."