Not that different at all

A few days ago I was having lunch with a good friend of mine. He was sharing with me his woes in being a journalist at a small newspaper in this day and age.

Nearly everyday he puts 40 plus miles on his car. His paltry check is consumed with eating out and paying for repairs on his car, not to mention handling rent. It's a depressing life he was telling me, and not what was promised at school.

As he was talking to me, I felt an eerie sense of de ja vu washing over my entire body. His story was my story at one time. I was a 22-year-old coming straight out of college making about $10.67 an hour. I worked long hours on the weekends, and it seemed like nothing I could ever do made my editors happy.

I lived in constant fear that I was going to lose my job. My sources of entertainment at that time were videogames, McDonald's and pornography. I was as far away from Christ as I could be in my thinking. Thank God he was still near me though.

A typical day had me waking up as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I would come into the office just knowing that I had made a mistake the night before. All I needed for confirmation of this fact was the glowing red light on my phone, indicating that I had a voice mail. No it wasn't a message letting me know what a great job I had done on a story, but rather it was a complaint letting me know of the numerous inaccuracies.

On Saturdays I would come into the office around 9 a.m. I would leave probably around 7 or 8 p.m. and then I would be called back in because there was breaking news around 9 p.m.

My Sunday's were spent playing videogames or watching some sinful movie I picked up at the local video store... just so I could escape the pain.

On Monday's I would do chores and try to cook. But as the day closed I was began to get more anxious. I was subconsciously bracing myself for Tuesday - when I went back to work - to deal with whatever complaints or whatever issues faced me in the newsroom.

It was a rough time, and this lasted from 2001- to Jan. 28th of 2005. Until I turned in my noticed and moved from Beaufort S.C. to Atlanta Ga.

For me it was a difficult time. It was a trying time. I was depressed, and mentally I just wasn't there. School didn't prepare me for this I thought. This isn't what I signed up for.

The sad reality is, is that the mental toll small newspapers can put on a person - well it's a lot. I salute the ones who can stick with it. But as for myself I had to leave that environment. Time will tell if my friend makes the same move too.