Post-Grad Depression: Prose

Sitting at the desk my sister left me, fear infects me, drives me to excessive pause. Words are supposed to spill out, right? Well, it used to like oil. Slippery and stuck to my skin. Now, I watch out my window as pretty pink flowers are whipped from their stems by the hot waves of summer, and all I can think of is “pretty.”

I just want to finish something other than the laundry or dishes. I want pages and pages to be written and read. I want to love words again.

An open submission tab burns on my computer and I want so bad to either look at it or click it gone. What would Professor Dings say? Which scowl would reach Professor Adams’ lips if I told her of my progress? Their assigned reading never went back to the library because I couldn’t allow myself to give away their words. Frustratingly, I wonder why I can’t give away mine.

The fear squeezes then, reminding me that I’m not that good. Classmates used to tell me otherwise and their words drenched me like lavender detergent, cleansing and doubtless. That helped, then I graduated and moved away. I heaved the stupid hand-me-down desk two flights of stairs so I could merely look out the windows that wouldn’t open to the tiny flowers floating towards the shadowed street of my Charleston neighborhood.

Poetic words should come easily surrounded by beauty, but they’re stale, hesitated and late. Desire shouldn’t have to be pulled like a mule. Stories are heavy and demand to be set down, but where does the drive go? Why does it leave when I need it most? I can’t serve tables for the rest of my life. A fake smile may soon be permanently etched on my face forever, and it terrifies me. It’s an odd type of depression. I’m happy, loved, and alive, but I am a failure to all my dreamed dreams. I dread leaving the house, but can’t seem to leave quick enough.

Tell me I’m too young to be worried about underachievement.

Tell me there’s still time.

Did any of you go through post-grad depression? I feel like no one talks about it much. I went through a tough time after graduating, trying to figure out who I was, if I was good enough to accomplish what I’ve always dreamt of, and if I was ever going to make it. I think we’re too hard on ourselves at that age. College gives us high hopes. We believe we’re going to get out, get a fantastic job, and live happily ever after. But that’s too easy, and frankly not how it works for most of us. Life is twisty, curvy, and unexpected. I wish I would have realize that sooner, rather than let myself sink into a dark place. So, if you’re going through something like this, please know that you’re not alone. If you ever need to talk, please reach out!

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