NYC heartbreak

Moving to New York City, about two months ago, I had just graduated college with hope in my heart and aspiration in my belly.

I was sick of people telling me that real life was going to suck, more than anything I wanted to show them just how not “sucky” life could be.

When I was offered a big girl job at a consulting firm in the city I thought my graduate prayers had been answered, considering most of my friends were currently in graduate school, underemployed or even worse unemployed.

My college roommate lived in Upstate about 80 minutes away from the city by train, and her family said I could move in with them just for a month or two until I got on my feet.

The plan was that come November (currently 10 days from now) I would be out of there and in my own place living the Sex in the City, rich girl in Manhattan, no holds bar type of life.

At least in my head.

In real life no one had warned me how outrageously expensive, or overwhelming the city can be.

It engulfs you, swallows you whole, and seeps you down into the pit of its belly waiting to see if the acid will burn you or push you forward.

I’m currently unsure of where I lie in that digestive track.

See maybe it was crazy and really really stupid of me, but my intentions were good.

Its not like I just packed up my bags with no job, or no place to live (not saying there is anything wrong with that). That’s just not me, I am a planner, a dreamer, but a planner.

Kind of a contradiction, but truth.

And for once in my life I did not want to let my brain and pinpoint practicality get in the way of what I really wanted out of life.

Which was to succeed, to make a difference.

To show to everyone who ever told me that a small town girl would always be a small town girl, that they were wrong.

That big dreams were not impossible for small people.

Although so far my dreams of success in New York City are sucking hardcore, I refuse to let my so called “naivety”  , and don’t get me wrong I know I am naïve (today I told my boss they were fixing the facade (FA-kade)  on the building, she laughs and corrects me,

“Its fəˈsɑːd, where did you graduate college again?”,

Anyways I refuse to let that get in my way.

See that is the girl from the suburb of Massachusetts in me.

I am the girl who does not know how to pronounce fancy New York towns like Stuyvesant, who does not know the difference between Uptown, Downtown and whatever in-between town, and who before making one of the largest decisions of her life to move to NYC had only stepped foot here twice.

But I am the girl, I guess I should say woman now, who was up for the challenge.

Maybe it was crazy to dream big, to follow what I thought I wanted.

But my parents also told me if I could dream it I could do it.

So I dreamed it.

Right now its hard to still follow that dream.

When I moved here I had money in my savings, an “almost” boyfriend who was the first guy I ever really saw a future with (which he doesn’t know and probably wont ever now), excitement for my job and optimism for the future.

As each day has gone by, that has all dwindled bit by bit away.

Currently I will be homeless in two weeks, well homeless by New York standards.

My parents have made it clear that I will be welcomed home anytime (which is tempting, no rent, my moms Italian food, my bed, no stress).

Although my stubborn headiness which my mom claims I get from my father and my father from my mother, is keeping me where my dreams are trapped, in NYC.

Currently I am really freaked out and stressed about what to do, the planner in me is going what the hell did you get yourself into, but I feel if your not fighting to stay a float, fighting for what you want….. then your not really living anyways.