Embarking on the “best four years of my life” I assumed it would be with ease that I created a new life with a large group of friends and people that cared about me. I was not afraid to leave- although slightly resilient to change, I was excited. Little did I know the effect such a drastic change would have on the core of my beings, beliefs, and perspectives. Many college students who strayed from the commonly attended school of their peers from home can relate to that moment you’re somewhere with all your new, cool friends and you see yourself amongst a crowd of people who were merely strangers only days before. I’d forgotten what it felt like to make friends with strangers; freshman year seems to force you into those situations. The word for the feeling escapes me. Not at all lonely, and far from miserable, but perhaps lost or dumbfounded at the path you’ve taken and scared of where it will lead, keeping in mind that you left your safety net far away. A feeling of being unsure. A new life meant no reputation to perch yourself on. I had no one I knew I could always count on if I accidentally killed someone, or wanted to jump off the bridge (other than you, Welles, hey). I made the transition from Atlanta to Charleston but I somehow felt like this city was vastly bigger than Atlanta had ever been. Moving ponds, and becoming a smaller fish in a bigger pond meant it would take much longer than a few days to find my people.
I wouldn’t say I lost sight of who I was, but I did struggle and question everything about myself, like self reflection on steroids everyday. I was slowly sinking; intimidated by the girls I didn’t yet know and the amount of “fun” they had on their Snapchat stories which documented every minute of the dozens of the parties they were invited to. Seeing Instagrams of 20 girls with a caption that suggests they’re all inseparable and love each other times infinity, 1) hinders your self esteem if you have yet to reach that inconceivable point of friendship within the first week of school, and 2) is misleading because in fact, they do not love each other times infinity, or perhaps at all. Was I supposed to compete? Pose with girls I’d known a month and call them my “soul mates”? I was making many friends, and having fun time going out, meeting new people, doing the whole college thing, but I wasn’t enough. I was constantly looking at posts on social media and subconsciously comparing them to myself like I never had before. I’m not alone when I say social media had a hardcore effect on my self-image and what I thought was important. My identity was being suffocated by the social media epidemic. It evolved from who I knew I was to what I thought others thought of me according to my social media profiles and the amount of likes on my profile picture. You can’t say when you get a minimal amount of likes on a post your heart doesn’t die a little inside; we have come to an ultimate low.
Life jerked me around a little, and as a writer, my all-too-close connection with my emotions lead me to a quick realization that I needed a change. Never had I been so controlled by what other people thought of me. I needed to regather my substance, and the most important pieces of me, such as the patterns in which my mind thought and my appreciation for motown and the Eagles. I didn’t want to be worth just 56 likes on my picture and the mere “hottie” my sorority sister said I was on my Facebook. In the past I never took any form of social media too seriously, generally forgetting to take pictures when I was doing something Insta-worthy, or that might entertain Snapchat friends simply because it wasn’t important to me. For so many girls (and some boys), identity is defined by what your social media accounts say about you, or how other people view it. We’re losing ourselves to the stranger on the other side of the screen who cannot see our flesh or the feelings beneath it. Any post that allows people to judge from behind a screen is dehumanizing; it creates a barrier that prohibits the connections we are genetically wired to make with each other. If you can’t look someone in the eyes and see that there is indeed a human inside there, empathy is near impossible.
In my pursuit to reconnect with myself, I did what any confused human in Charleston would do; I walked. I explored cornerstones of history, and strolled down broken alleys between cemeteries and shopped for real estate on the Battery, and then the hidden houses behind the Battery. I always went alone on adventures, this was fundamentally important. I was the only one to know, it was an experience that I had all to myself and (this may shock some of you) even if it wasn’t documented on the internet, it happened. A small, enjoyable change in my daily routine reminded me who I am, and who I am working to become, simultaneously teaching me a valuable lesson. Although I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy the cobblestone streets of one of the greatest cities in the world, my ultimate objective was nourishment of my soul. I got to think, and not simply about me, but thinking randomly about whatever came to mind allowed me back inside my own head.
Mental health is something to nurture, specifically in our age of technology, if for no other reason than to stay grounded. I’m not suggesting we should all damn technology and social media, as they both have extensive benefits. That said, it’s so easy to become a slave to technology when companies are literally aiming their arrows at you to hit you with their next social media app that will only define and confine you further. It’s important to feel your own humanity. Leave your Facebook friends at home and take a good look at the world through your own eyes. Embark on small adventures that lead you to self discovery and trigger your spirituality. Embrace every emotion that comes your way, the good ones as well as those that often leave you scarred. My point is, strip naked if for no other purpose than to feel the wind on your own skin-to live in your own body, for once.
