Post-grad Woes

It’s taken me nearly two months to write again. I have been writing – albeit sparsely ­– in my journal, but I couldn’t get myself to write something that the public could read.

When I was in high school, I often complained about how no one told me how life was going to get harder. I like knowing what to expect so I could prepare myself. Although realistically, I can’t really control how I feel, so it’s not like I can use this tactic to regulate my emotions. Basically, life is not all sunshine and rainbows, is what I mean. I knew that, of course, but I wished someone would’ve told me that you’re always going to meet someone shitty and some things just don’t have a heaping sugary spoon of reason that helps you swallow the truth.

Fast forward some years to when I’m a senior in college. People told me that post-grad life wasn’t going to be fun. I could just click open one of the many cynical Thought Catalog or Buzzfeed posts about twenty-something life and feel miserable about the impending, inescapable doom that was about to come and slam me in the face. But I didn’t choose to do that. I ignored them all – these posts; my professors; people around me who were getting into law, med schools, or had somewhat of a plan. I had nothing. I shoved the feeling of dread I had deep, deep down into the recesses of my conscious and lived each day for what it was. I was happy then, but inevitably June came. I managed to get myself some paid internships, although the paid sucked, the hours were meagerly small and any five year old could do the duties I had. It was okay, though. I still had a hopeful spirit, which in retrospect was maybe along the lines of even fantastical. Before I started my second internship, I applied to a job that was situated in New York and dreamed that I would get hired, thus letting me escape from taking on an internship that I had felt was going to be an awful decision. Not that I lived in New York. Not that I had talented, impressive experience. It didn’t matter. I just wanted out, so my mind continued to entertain those ideas.

Of course I didn’t get that job. I felt dead inside, knowing I had to go through with my internship. I applied to another so that I’d be working two at once because although yes, they had poor pay, poor hours, and poor everything, some money would be better than no money at all. Or so I thought. I quit my third internship in a matter of two weeks. Money, really, isn’t worth the anguish. I know that I am lucky to be able to say this because currently my parents support me via a roof over my head and food, although I do wish that I could be independent right now to take care of that. I know some people don’t have the luxury to leave something they hate, no matter how detestable it may be. In October, though, I felt dead. I can’t recall that month, the things that had happened nor the things I had done. I don’t really reminisce much about my college years like I used to, two, three months after graduation. The colder weather these days do remind me of something, though. They remind me of high school. How, even with so much love surrounding me, I felt lonely. The chill in the air reminds me of my naïveté, and actually, how in some sliver of moments, I was stupidly and genuinely happy.

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