It’s late.  Really late.  I’m driving home and I shouldn’t be.  I glance at myself in my rearview mirror.  I wonder if anyone looking could see the hurt in my eyes, the sinking feeling of disappointment in my gut.  I’m hurt.  Bad.  I want to pull over and just cry for a while but that’s way too dramatic to do on Spring Street at this hour. I turn on my Pandora hoping it will drown out my thoughts, and to no avail.  I look back at myself in the mirror and my hair is still perfect.  Middle part, bone straight 18 inches of Eurasian weave laid for the gawds.  My brows are perfect and my red lips accent my blue dress perfectly.  I tossed my heels in the back and I’m driving barefoot trying to think of somewhere to go to drown my sorrows.  I don’t want to drink anymore.  No liquor can comfort the disappointment I feel.  Not in him but in myself, because I knew it was a bad idea to go there in the first place.  I’m replaying the events in my head.

As soon as I stepped in the door something felt off.  Call it woman’s intuition or being skillfully perceptive, but the vibe was all wrong.  That should’ve been enough for me to leave but I fought through it anyway.  We planned to see each other my last night in town.  I was looking forward to this for days and now I’m here and something is wrong.  He can sense it, but I just say nothing is wrong because I don’t want to ruin the evening we had planned.  I sat on his bed like I always do when I come over and I look to my right.  There they are.  There lies the reason I felt so off.  The biggest, cheapest pair of Forever 21 hoop earrings you would ever want to see.  They are tarnished to that rusted bronze color that all cheap jewelry turns to after a while, and I get that feeling.  You know how your stomach feels on a roller coaster when it drops, or that flushed feeling where your whole body gets hot when you’re going through rough turbulence on an airplane?  That.  I felt hot and sick all at once.  I wanted to cry and scream and throw shit everywhere, but after a person disappoints you so many times you grow numb.  Time stood still as he came in the room and saw what I saw.  It was that moment between two people where nothing is said but all is understood.  All I could do was gather my things, put my heels back on and leave.  He was talking but I couldn’t even register what was being said.  “I didn’t have sex with her she just stayed over after she drove me home,” he tried to explain.  “I just can’t stay here.  I have to go,”  I replied softly.  The fight in me was gone.  The rage I felt turned into a deep sorrow and regret all in one second and I just needed to get out.  His protests to get me to stay fell on deaf ears.

I’m riding in circles through midtown trying to think of somewhere to go or something to do and I feel lost.  So I call the one person who I can always call in moments like this.  He knows me better than I know myself.  He loves me like no one else.   Since I was 18 he’s been the person I call when I’m in the most trouble.  He rescued me from myself time and time again, and I need him to save me now.  “Hey can you talk?” I say in a low voice just above a whisper.  “I have company but what’s up?  Are you ok?”  I know what that means.  That means the girl I gave him away to is there and I hate that I called this late.  I moved away to chase my dreams and gave him away to someone who could be what he needed.  In this moment I feel completely alone.  “I’m ok.  I’ll talk to you later,” I hang up before he can protest.  I finally give up and hit 85 south to go home and I pray no one is awake so I can just go to sleep.  This is all too much for one night.

I get a text: Muffin, are u ok?  I’m worried about you.  Do you need to come over?

I want to say yes I need you, but I can’t be that selfish.  I text back: no I’ll be ok I just need to figure some stuff out ttyl.

He replies: are you sure?  You know I’m always here for you.  We’ll talk tomorrow if you want i love you.

I love you more, I text back and put my phone on Do Not Disturb.

In three hours I have to catch a flight back to New York and tuck all of this away.  It’s late.  My hair is perfect.  My makeup is flawless, but my heart is completely broken.  Sleep.

It’ s official.  New York has kicked my ass for the last time and I give up. How soon can I get back to Atlanta, and how much will it cost to have all of my clothes shipped?  How much am I getting back from my security deposit on my place?  I wonder if my sister will let me live with her for a while.  These were all of my thoughts from last week.  It all started when I got the heads up from my friend in my old  department to apply for a full-time role that had just opened up.  I jumped at the chance to get out of my temporary role in HR to move to something full time that would mean I can really establish some roots in New York.  This didn’t go over well with my then manager, because when I got to my desk the next day I received an email that my assignment was prematurely ended.  Putting a positive spin on it, I figured hey no biggie I should be a shoe in for the new position since they know me and specifically requested that I apply.

I woke up really early on the day of the interview to review my notes and get my head together.  I even allowed myself to indulge in an iced coffee to get myself hyped up.  After two hours of group exercises, icebreakers, and an assessment, I was pulled to the side to get the news that I hadn’t gotten the job.  So here I am jobless with no prospects, and I get home to learn that my roommates/landlords are raising my rent.  What a great day this turned out to be.

I lost it, and just instantly felt like, ok this is it.  This is the sign that I’ve done everything I can do here.  I gave it my best and my dreams have died here on this day.  I called my friend Lauren from the hallway of the building only for her to get me smooth together and let me know that I’m not allowed to quit yet.  She referred me to the temp service that got her placed at a great company making great money.  I met with them, and was promptly told to give up on fashion and move to another industry.  They got me an interview at an investment company the following week for a role that had a competitive salary and full benefits.

The interview went well enough that they requested I come in to temp for a few days so they could get a feel for me.  On the second day of my trial period at the investment company I got a call saying there was an opening for a temporary role at Christian Dior as a PR Assistant.  My excitement went to disappointment the instant I learned the compensation was trash.  Who the hell can afford to live off of $14 an hour with no benefits in New York? Who?!  

I went to the Dior interview anyway, which only made me want the job even more.  Here I was in the LVMH Tower interviewing for a dream job with a top fashion house that I can’t even afford to take.  Why would the Lord dangle this in front of me like this?  Is it a test to see which I’m more dedicated to, the dream or the money?  I finished my week long assignment at the investment company hoping I made a good impression and headed to Le Bain that Friday for drinks with Lauren.  I gave her the rundown as we looked out over the Hudson and the Meatpacking District from the rooftop of the Standard and asked what she would do.  “Jessica, do you want to wear Dior or work at Dior?  At this point you need to be able to take care of yourself and Dior isn’t gonna do that for you.”  

The harsh reality is that she spoke nothing but the truth.  I’ve been struggling here as a starving artist for two years.  Living check to check down to the last penny, unable to do much of anything but work and this isn’t the life for me.  I live in what is arguably the greatest city in the world and I can’t even fully enjoy it, because I’m trying to stay in an industry that won’t even pay me what I’m worth.  The thing about fashion is that entry level jobs pay nothing, because there are so many people lined up to snatch those jobs and they are able to take whatever they can get salary wise.  But for someone like me who struggles to pay her own rent every month and falls behind on bills because of it, I can’t.  I can’t be fashion’s bitch and take pennies when I know I deserve more.  I have to find another way in, because that’s not it.  All I want to do is write and talk about fashion and life.  This isn’t what I thought my life would be at 28, and I just need things to get better, because I’m dangerously close to giving up.  And I’m wondering if I’m just not one of the people who can make it here.  How do you know when it’s time to give up and when it’s time to fight harder?