I remembered the entirety of my college experience more vividly than I did those four months after. I was living in a hazy state, where I was aware of everything around me, but felt nothing. I wanted it to be my best summer but it was so far from that. It wasn’t so much the lack of activity that made it unmemorable, as it was the lack of having any purpose whatsoever.
I filled my days with useless activity to occupy my mind ‘til bedtime so that I wouldn’t have to worry about the future I couldn’t see for myself.
I got on tinder and went on questionable dates. I let drunk people drive my dad’s car. I almost fucked someone on a bench in an open-field. I walked the streets of Westmont LA at night with people I didn't know. Strangers did coke in my mom’s car. And I let a date ditch me for a curvy girl at a party, where I didn’t know anyone.
I’m more confused than ashamed or embarrassed. Most of the time I just went with the flow because I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to feel.
At the time, I thought this was fun and daring—I thought this was how I was supposed to spend my early 20s. But in retrospect, I’m just surprised I made it out alive.