Read this first: Again (Part I of III)

I felt certain I wouldn’t finish the semester, so I barely attended class. I also had restrictions on exercising. And the one time I partied I was terrified the alcohol would cause internal bleeding because of my low platelets. That left my days as unproductive as you can imagine. My roommate and I usually left our door open, but I began closing it because I felt like such a loser when people passed by several times and I was still playing Tiger Woods PGA Tour 2003 and Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. My most productive activity was burning a CD of the best Vice City songs and copying it for my hall mates. There was some kickass '80s music on that game.

My bone marrow was dying so fast it was scary. Within weeks of finding out there was a problem I was already getting blood and platelet transfusions regularly. If I wasn’t in my dorm room playing PlayStation 2, I was probably hooked up to an IV at the UVA hematology/oncology clinic.

At the end of February it occurred to me that I was wasting my parents’ money, so I dropped out and they received a refund on my tuition and other expenses. When everyone else was packing for spring break, I was packing to return home.

The way I handled my departure was embarrassing. My friend, PingPongGirl, said, “I would’ve made my hall mates throw a huge party for me.” Instead, I sent this email:

What up fellas,
I'm sorry to say this, but I will not be coming back here after spring break. I'm leaving Friday and I'm leaving for good. I will be back next year, I'm living in a house near the Subway at the end of JPA. If any of you have any of my stuff, I'd appreciate it if you gave it back. The only thing I know I'm missing is the Friends Volume 2 DVD. I’ll still have my screen name if you want to keep in touch. Also, I don't give a fuck if you ask me what the problem is, you just won't hear me bring it up much. Peace out fuckers.
Ben
Projected Wes reaction: Naw man, naw.

We loaded my stuff into my dad’s van, and I went back to my room one more time. It was like I had never lived there. The room looked so empty, mostly because my roommate Dirty-D barely owned anything except a 13-inch TV that could’ve been confused for seven inches. Other than one decent academic semester and some new friends, there wasn’t much proof I was ever a Wahoo.

Keep reading: Again (Part III of III)