Today, as I was writing an email to a pre-health adviser, one thought invaded my brain: “This is not my story.” This can’t be my story. This is not the legacy I’ll begin the rest of my life with. This can’t be it.

I think of a Grey’s Anatomy episode where a child shoots her father 17 times to keep him from physically abusing her mother. Meredith Grey begs the mother, who wants to protect the abusive father, to not let this be her child’s story. She begs her to do something about the situation.

I have been exploring options after graduation and I’m scared. In a time where graduates cannot find jobs even with superior grades, what is out there for me? I didn’t work hard my first three years in college. I didn’t have a hunger to be the best. To accomodate this, I chose a major that requires less work. In an email to an adviser at Carolina, I wrote, and I quote, “It’s almost as if I got to college and my life decided to explode in my face.”

My freshman year I knew this wasn’t how it’s supposed to be. I knew then, and I let myself get to where I am now.

This can’t be my story.

If I died tomorrow, my story would be sad. I realized a short time ago that I’ve never been happy. I have misinterpreted many moments of relief and made them into moments of happiness. I have laughed and smiled, but never been truly happy.