Episodes

            When I graduated high school, I was so excited for college. I was confident, I was comfortable with my high school friend group, and I couldn’t wait to experience all that college had to offer.

            One month in and I was walking around the streets of Boston alone, feeling alienated in a city where my closest friendships were only a few weeks old. I had already attempted to be part of one friend group and had been duly ostracized – deemed not cool enough by a group of girls on my floor – and I missed the people back home with whom I had sleepovers, watching 1980s romcoms and Disney Princess movies until we fell asleep at midnight. (My high school friends and I were not that cool, it turns out.)

            I would be in a dorm with new friends, playing Mario Kart and technically having a good time, and wishing more than anything that I was back with my high school friends, or in bed under the covers, or anywhere that promised to make me happy – or at the very least less lonely.

            By the end of my first semester I had found my group of friends that stayed relatively constant throughout college. By the end of that year I wasn’t constantly asking for reassurance from Pip, the friend who always seemed effortlessly relaxed and at ease, that she was indeed my friend and not just someone who let me hang around.

            I wasn’t as lonely anymore. College felt comfortable.

            At the end of sophomore year, after finals and before going home for summer, I took some shrooms with friends. When the sun began to set, I remember wanting more than anything to stop time, to stay on this perfect day before it slipped away from me. The sky grew darker, and my chest constricted. I couldn’t make time stop moving forward. I couldn’t stop night from coming.

            First semester of junior year was about as perfect a semester of college one could ask for. My classes were interesting. My friends were great. I had an easy on-campus job. I was nursing a crush that didn’t seem hopeless or out of reach. My roommates and I created a list of 10 apartment rules concerning hook-ups, drinking, and party fouls – maybe the most college thing I’ve ever done. I was comfortable, at home, and happy.

            Some of my friends were seniors, which meant they were about to graduate. Next semester, I was going to study abroad. I was so lucky and so thrilled to be able to experience four months in another country, but in the back of my mind I knew that this perfect college semester was over and everything was about to change. I would come back from France and a good portion of my friends would be done with school. One more semester and I’d follow suit. A third semester later and I wouldn’t even be in Boston anymore.

            My time in France coexisted with this weird existential crisis that clouded my thoughts and dampened my mood. It didn’t help that I had to start all over with a new group of people again. I had this stupid habit of forgetting how terrible I was at making new friends. Being friends with people was easy, but the “making of” process I could barely figure out. I have been very lucky to somehow stumble my way through that beginning phase with enough people that I’m not alone, but it’s never been easy for me. I think of myself as good at first impressions and good at genuine friendship, but that gray area of acquaintanceship between meeting for the first time and becoming actual friends is hard and scary and anxiety-inducing and I absolutely hate it.

            It took me a long time to put my finger on why I couldn’t fully enjoy my semester abroad. (Don’t get me wrong – I enjoyed it. I loved my time there. But I was also unbelievably relieved to get back home.) I felt like a failure, or a spoiled brat, or a Super American for not taking complete emotional advantage of such an awesome opportunity. In fact, I only finally came to grips with the issue when talking to a friend that summer and I said, out loud, what had been bothering me. In a few months I was going to graduate, and then live my life, and then die. The whole thing felt so… pointless.

I felt like I had no control over what my brain was doing. That fear was such a dumb thing to freak out about, especially since I was only 20 years old, but I felt instantly better after labeling it. I guess that’s the point of therapy? Grappling with the beast is easier when you know what the beast is.

Of course, those unfounded fears didn’t just automatically disappear once I identified them, but it was an important step forward. I got to work out some really terrifying personal beliefs. I stopped, officially, being Catholic, since I realized I no longer believed Jesus rose from the dead or that God was both a Holy Trinity and One Being (both of which are necessary to believe in order to be Christian). I almost lost faith in God entirely, but I came out on the other end still a believer in a higher power. Deciding you don’t believe Jesus is Christ is actually really fucking hard. It feels dumb to admit that too, but it was. It was harder than putting Santa Claus away, I’ll tell you that.

The two years following college were also difficult. I had about seven different jobs before landing one at a car dealership. That wasn’t my dream job – I’ve been making up stories since I was in third grade and I always imagined I’d end up as someone who wrote and traveled and somehow made money doing… things? I wasn’t always clear on that last part, but it definitely didn’t consist of spending six or seven days a week in a dealership. I wanted a job that I found fulfilling, and I tried on a bunch of different hats before recently realizing the reason none of them stuck.

On top of working a job I didn’t like, I realized that living in the city of Los Angeles was very different than growing up in the suburbs of Los Angeles. I didn’t have as many friends as I thought, and I was now tasked with finding a group of people I could be comfortable with. Again. This time, it took me two years. I had individual friends, sure, but I didn’t have a group. Being a working professional in Los Angeles makes finding lasting friendships much harder than it was when I was at school. I finally succeeded, but in order to be more social in that awful “in between” time, I leaned harder and harder on alcohol.

My last episode is only just now ending. I quit my toxic job to pursue comedy writing, which is something I’m only just now starting to admit (because, again, it does feel still feel silly – but it also feels like something I have to do). I was lucky, again, to have some savings, because most days I spent hating myself for not having the energy to do anything more than cry one-to-seven times a day and watch Fargo. (Fargo is great btw.) I didn’t know why I was so emotional. I think it’s because I was scared – now, here I am, declaring that I’m going to pursue something that has supposedly been my dream, and I’m out of excuses. What if I don’t work that hard at it? I think that’s been my biggest fear – that my work ethic isn’t there. If I put the effort in, I didn’t see any reason why I shouldn’t succeed. But what if my drive just isn’t where it should be? Who am I, if it turns out I can’t give 100%?

The new year is coming, and I feel good about 2016. I’m coming out of that funk, and those voices in my head that list all those reasons I should feel bad about myself are getting easier and easier to ignore. I know another episode will come, but I also know I’ll work through it again. I’ve learned some new things about myself, and I’ll be better prepared next time.

Until then, I think right now I’m bordering right on happy.