Behind the Giraffe, Part 2: Post-College
My younger self did not know three key things about post-college life:
- Excluding your boss, no one tells you what to do with your time.
- Friends disappear and schedules fill up to point of obscurity.
- Money is actually quite important. Like… living day to day important.
Put simply: I wasn’t ready to graduate. I had been constantly reminded that post-college life was rough but I had not redeemed those words seriously until reality chucked a brick through my window aptly captioned in big letters:
“You don’t know shit about the real world, homeboy.”
To say that post-graduation became difficult was a vast understatement—it was a near fucking shit show. Rejection piled up at my doorstep. Relationship woes. Mother and cancer. Financial constraints. Dog died. Depression. Malnutrition and empty refrigerators. Jealousy. Envy. Stress. Distance from loved ones. Heartbreak. Loneliness. Loneliness. Loneliness.
Of said factors, the distancing of loved ones hit home the hardest. The demands of full time work greatly inhibited opportunities to spend with old friends, nor did I have the gas money or a car to actually visit them. My last year in college was spent primarily at a house my roommates and I warmly refer to as the “G-Spot.” Friends, hookah. My first year back at home was spent watching my mental and physical health decline to disturbing levels of depression and self-defeat.
I was a mess. Life was diarrhetic. Shit was not together.
Things have picked up. Since then, I’ve become more comfortable in my own skin and the realization that, despite looking absolutely amazing in a suit, I’m probably not suited for the corporate world. I work part time at a hospital and though the pay isn’t exactly CEO status, it’s enough until conditions stabilize. I drive a car and even though it’s not mine, it moves me places where I need to be. Friends are slowly seeping their way back to my life and though I’ll never feel like I fit in group setting, the company is enough to keep me from hurting myself.
Oh, and food is available now so I’m not starving anymore.
So here I am now: living a life I never imagined and rolling with punches I didn’t think I could take. Admittedly, I get depressed quite often and on some days, I feel like things will never get better. This recession is hard on lots of people, especially for the dreamers with miles of potential and inches of means. Faith itself is a stock and its value can plummet without occasional sustenance.
But I’m still healthy and hopeful and I know as long as this heart keeps pumping, I’ll fill the void with enough blood to dilute the fucking Atlantic Ocean.
So if you’re out there—God, readers, friends—please tell me I’m not alone in this.
Tell me I’m not alone in this.