Real or not real
Flashback: On a spring evening 5 years ago, I found myself slouching against the stained wall of a dingy college dorm room. I watched helplessly as a nearly inconsolable girl paced and turned multiple shades of wet, blotchy pink (harsh fluorescent lighting isn’t exactly flattering). It was unfortunately familiar scene in my short friendship with this new resident. I had pity for anyone new—in the almost-completely freshman hall, our floor was the odd one, stocked with anti-social transfers and misplaced athletes. It was hard to make friends before people either moved out or got kicked out. The room I shared with an older transfer, for instance, was hedged in by the pumpkin pie sharing Canadian and the scary gaming guy who liked to yell at night and fist bump the wall. On any account, this sobbing girl in front of me didn’t have a lot going for her when she decided to switch colleges mid-year and live on our floor. And she had even less going for her with a syndrome that made her feel,...