When I first decided to come to Wake Forest, I was excited to come to a school that wanted me for me. When I got here, however, I knew that I was wrong. Either Wake Forest hates me, or some evil spirit—probably Jabez Bostwick — wants me dead. Wake Forest University is actually trying to kill me.

Moving into Bostwick, I was aware of the mold problem; of course, Bostwick is one of the oldest buildings on campus, so I expected a bit of green.

My roommate and I were sick for about two weeks before we noticed it: the green and white layer of mold that covered the air conditioner vents beside my bed. After freaking out, we called facilities and they fixed the mold. For now.

Speaking of the air conditioner vent, a few weeks ago, I came back into my dorm room to find another plot for my death.

My surge-protected outlets, which usually sit at the back of my air conditioner vent were soaked. The cords to my phone charger and computer charger were wet, and I had no idea where the water was coming from. I thought I was going to get electrocuted. I dried off the cords and outlets; this was my second attempt to live a normal life at Wake Forest.

I did a few sports in high school; I cheered and played soccer. When I got to Wake Forest, however, I decided to take a break from my “all-star” sports career and opt for a more “education-driven” lifestyle.

After being at Wake Forest for about three months, my body stopped working. I could barely walk because of the sharp pains in my legs and hips. I went to student health, and I was told that I had tendinitis.

That made no sense to me; I hadn’t even played any sports for six months, yet I somehow got tendinitis? I got to thinking about it, and I realized that it was another one of Mother So Dear’s evil ploys to kill me. If I couldn’t walk, there was no way I could run away from Wake Forest, my executioner.

The most recent occurrence of Wake Forest trying to kill me happened a few days ago.

I had just clocked in at work on the second floor of Benson and began making my way towards the Dean of Students Office, where I answer the phone.

As I reached the third step from the bottom of the stairs in the rotunda, my foot slipped. I fell backwards down the last three steps to my near-death.

As everyone laughed, I pulled myself together. Not today, Wake Forest. Not today.