They didn’t tell us the truth about angst. It’s supposed to be this phenomenon that happens when you’re in middle and high schools and then goes away…well, here’s an update—IT DOESN’T. Sure, it happens less frequently, but that’s a small comfort considering when it does happen, it’s MUCH WORSE. At 23, I still feel just as angsty as I did in high school, albeit less often. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I like the PEOPLE at my job, but I hate my actual job. Obviously. I’m sitting here writing this instead of doing MY JOB. So back to my life. I don’t know what I want to do for the rest of it—I’m less close to knowing now, after graduating college, than I was when I freaking graduated high school. I’m further away from having a meaningful family life than I was in college—now there’s not even a boyfriend. At least I learned not to ever define myself by my relationships again, there’s a plus for that. So I guess all in all, I feel closer to square one than I was five years ago. Except now I have a piece of paper that proclaims I’m smart and work hard. But honestly, who believes that shit? It’s nothing like the real world—no class I ever had was anything like the real world.
I’d always heard that one’s twenties were difficult, but I was stupid enough to think that wouldn’t—COULDN’T—be me. Because I’d make all the RIGHT choices. THAT was dumb.