9,000 words. 33 essays. 19 schools.

As many of you may know, the senior class finally wrapped up the insidious ghost that has haunted our minds for the past six months: college applications. We survived a season that was a simultaneous catalyst for self reflection and continual anxiety. This article is an attempt to bring light to the harsh realities that have contributed to the debilitating process that engulfed the entirety of the first semester of my senior year.

I began this process in the fall semester of my junior year when a classmate of mine shared their woeful tale of their first SAT. Having never once opened this section of the College Board website, I had a mini heart attack and watched the beginning of my college journey unfold in front of me. In other words, I had no idea how college admissions worked and the amount of effort it would require. Looking back, it’s hilarious how naive I was.

Everyone knows that the seniors had to write “a lot of essays” this past semester. But the essays were more than words on a Google Doc. Having to sum up myself – 18 years, countless memories, dozens of mentors, hundreds of passions – in a few hundred words is a daunting task, one that I often manipulated to paint myself as the “ideal candidate.” In doing so, I ironically felt like I lost my sense of self.

Last semester, I utilized every free period for essay workshops and editing sessions. I agonized over the U.S. News World and Report statistics. I precariously juggled club soccer, extracurriculars, six APs, college essays, family time, and friendships, all the while realizing that this is the last year of my childhood. I cried in my room almost every night because I felt like a speck of dust in the whirlwind of applicants who all wanted the exact same things as me.

As I wrote these essays, hoping to distinguish myself from the literal thousands of students my age, I began to feel like there was nothing special about me at all. My own passion for writing and reading diminished entirely in the face of bland prompts that blended together in a slow-moving stream of uninteresting facts.

I watched my friends – self-assured and confident people – break down over the stress of applying to colleges while also maintaining stellar grades to reflect exponential academic growth to those exact colleges.

I repeated my script for how college applications were unfolding to never-ending lines of relatives, faculty members, and random friends of my parents. “Yes, I’m still writing those essays.” “No, I haven’t heard back from ___ yet.” “You’re right, I should manage my time better.”

Additionally, people always inquired about the famed senioritis. My response: honestly, it’s not that I’ve given up – I just have nothing left to give.

Now, I am sad to say that I can easily write a 500-word essay in less than an hour about my interest in college majors. I can compare the “stunning ocean views of the West Coast” to any Great Lake with ease. I am unphased by the challenge of expanding upon my interest in an honors program. I’m immediately prepared to explain how my background can contribute to your community. I have no problem with describing a moment in my life that defines my definitely super-unique character that transformed my school community into a haven of intellectual curiosity and compassion, as seen by my involvement in various clubs and extracurricular activities.

Maybe I’ll be good enough for that school. Maybe not. Maybe 2007 was a high birth rate year. Maybe I could’ve done better in Chemistry. Maybe I should’ve signed up for another summer course. Studied harder. Researched longer. It’s unavoidable to see a college result as a reflection of your worth. How could I have submitted essays on my struggle with math classes, my passion for political advocacy, and my connection with my parents, and not see a rejection as a rejection of my character? As impossible as it seems, I always remember that both this admissions process and the sheer number of participants is an unfair equation that I cannot solve.

And the cherry on top: my results trickle back from December until April. As I sit here, pondering what a deferral means, all that’s left to do is sit back, relax, and wait.