I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, but I forget how fucking young I am. Our generation is the first that is completely and utterly fucked to the core. We owe more in student debt than we are worth to our shitty general manager at Target. We have to pile on debt, have two jobs, go to school part-time, support ourselves. It’s harder than it’s ever been, and I don’t know if I’m cut out for that.
I try to stay positive, take deep breaths, and face the unknown…except, it isn’t unknown; I know exactly what the unknown looks like! The unknown is an overbearing, older, middle to upper class white man, telling everyone that the youth doesn’t work hard enough, or that we are completely lazy. Stop shaking your fist in anger and telling us to get off your lawn, when you’re the one who didn’t give us anywhere else to run.
My parents will never understand how hard it is growing up as Generation Y. They are nothing but X’s, exes, part of the past. They face problems, I will not doubt that, but, it’s nothing like us.
"Go to college, get a career!" It’s not that simple anymore.
I do not want to grow up, thousands of dollars in debt, with a piece of paper that doesn’t help me get anything more than an internship at the local paper. I am determined to make a career for myself, with my own hands. I will create art, and submit articles, and better my craft.
At least my mother has always supported me in all of my artistic hobbies. She always tells me how talented I am, but she fails to realize I get it from her. She is the most creative woman I know. She is so crafty, and always makes the best homemade gifts.
She’s also becoming a big more understanding with my mental illness. I haven’t been doing so well; There has been a constant flow of tears down my cheek, rubbing it raw. I sleep more than half the day away, and the first thing I think when I wake up is,
“I can’t wait to go back to sleep.”