I watched The Last Jedi. I regret that the mainstream franchise even rebooted. That is not to say that the movie was a disappointment, however: it simply failed to provide the profound, universalizing dialogue that movies are often critically acclaimed for.
It’s that season again when girls dress in cozy jackets with skintight leggings and “cute” boots. Juxtapose this thought, for one brief moment, with the image of guys with gym shorts coming in the bathroom, slamming the toilet seat down, sitting for a good long while on the toilet, and then letting the door slam on the way out; and then another doing some shaving or something, playing a bunch of country music all about getting some girl or otherwise generally romantic.
How does that make me feel? Not very masculine.
Sometimes I imagine myself fighting someone off and succeeding, and then finally looking at myself to see what monstrous body I have inherited. A body strong enough to kill. A voice deep enough to hold ground. An uncontrollable amount of hair.
And sometimes I have dreamed of being in a store, eyeing these leggings, and trying to put them on. And I’ve had the same dream for years. Why?
It is not something easily explicable. If someone asks me if I look at women, I would say yes – it’s not exactly easily resistible. But I don’t think I do it for the same reasons as other men do it: I don’t lust them. I am not interested in sex. But I do look at curvatures and those physical and expressive qualities that make someone simply seem touchable and huggable, even if I never ultimately end up touching or hugging them (in fact, this never happens). But I think about it anyway: how it feels to cuddle with someone, to enjoy life with them, to simply propulse encouragement off one another and live life to the fullest, notwithstanding what others think or feel except for these two people, who are so tightly wrapped within one another.
And what do they expect of me? Some call me strong. Others have suggested I start lifting weights – not fully aware of what little self-esteem I have. Do they expect a sedate friendship or a deep connection? And what do I expect of them? To support me in my personal projects/delusions? To feel comfortable if I wrap my arms around them, or if I rest my head on their lap?
Maybe I should try sleeping for something longer than 7.5 hours.
I am not looking forward to Thanksgiving.
I got a 172/200 on the CS exam. That’s only around 10 points above average, where the standard deviation was 22 points. That is a B. There is no hope now of escaping my A-.
Screw scholarships. I’ll just play dumb and when the student loan bubble bursts and the government goes broke and will give no more, I’ll just get screwed over like the majority of the US population. Then we’ll riot and have a civil war. Or, someone will invent general AI before I do, and he will become the billionaire. And then years later, when I come into the field, there will be a billion competing general AI companies, and it will be impossible for me to thrive. I’ll just end up working for some company and become a salaryman.
I skipped the discussion section for another class. They are going over a test as I write this, but why should I make myself anxious when they haven’t even put a grade on my test? And it probably is a sucky grade, or an “average” grade.
And what is the point of studying? The professor and the TA want to take points away from you, by laying traps and gotchas on their tests that everyone is meant to fall over, except the “cream of the crop,” yes, those who are then lauded and offered a paid TA position under the table. And for the most part, the TAs have hardly a clue what they are doing, because they don’t know a thing about pedagogy and theory of pedagogy, so naturally the discussion sections/sessions are boring because no discussion actually occurs.
What’s the point of being successful, anyway? The world can be likened to a bunch of serial voters, anyway: if they think you are commendable, then you must be commendable; if they think you are stupid and useless, then you really must be. It’s like that “double decker couch” concept from The Lego Movie, that detestable movie. You’re conditioned into thinking that the concept “sucks” because it is said consistently that it “is the worst idea imaginable.” But it is, in fact, not the worst concept imaginable, while the idea may have its impracticalities.
People think on the outside that I am a somewhat reasonable person, but on the inside, I am fairly insane, and when I express my insane ideas, there is such a disconnect between my insanity and what they normally expect of me that they simply do not understand what I want.
Here is the bottom line: I am lonely, and it is all my fault.
The voice in the back of my head has returned to ravage and flowchart me back onto the status quo. Hardly anything in my life leaves the status quo, although there are days where an interesting number of coincidences occur.
My hair is back to losing itself. My brain is back to damaging itself in depression, forgetting my culture, forgetting people. My eyes are back to wandering, looking at people who are enjoying life together with others: the boys who are wearing their comfortable jackets (I forgot mine at home), the girls who are wearing their remarkable outfits (implausible to do by men).
When I go to the bathroom, I sometimes hesitate for a moment before entering the men’s restroom. I look intently at the sign as I open the door: am I really a man? I look at myself in the mirror. It takes work to convince myself that I am one.
I want to hug someone. Counseling sucks because you are paying for someone to listen to you. I want a genuine friendship. I try to talk to this girl I have known for a few years now, but she seldom responds; I fear her life is too busy to put me into it. Every girl I encounter (that is, those who I approach, which is uncommon; or they approach me) that seems remotely nice either is already invested in a relationship or is years older than me. I don’t even want sex.
And the people online “helping” others say, “no, if you think a relationship will fix your problems, you are wrong, there is something else you need to fix, figure it out.” Yeah. Figure it out.
Here’s what the status quo is. They’ll call me in the afternoon asking if I am okay, and I’ll say yes, and they’ll hang up. I’ll live through Thanksgiving as I always do, and my brother will bother me if I want to play games or whatever. I’ll go back to my dorm on Sunday night, mad, thinking about all the assignments I still need to do. And I’ll probably have forgotten a few things along the trip. I’ll live through exam hell, probably miss another multiple-choice on the calculus exam and get a 15/20 on the free-response. And then when finals roll around, I’ll be bored and anxious out of my mind, and then I finally set out on the 21st right before they shutter the dorm hall. My grades: discrete math, A; data structures, A-; calculus, B+; theatre, A-. 3.60 GPA. Impossible to apply for anything.
And my parents don’t suspect a thing. And what if they do find about all this? My dad will go into my room and say, “Anything you want to talk about?” until I say something (probably ask me the same question in English – no, I will use Spanish!), and my mother will intimidate me with something like “do you pray?” asked over and over, and maybe something like “you have committed a high mortal sin against God and the Church and you must find a place to confess now!” And my brother will just stand at the doorway, peering into the room, playing dumb and asking what the commotion is about, and then he will finally give me the you’re-going-to-hell-for-this look.
I don’t like who I am. I don’t like how my brain operates. I don’t like it when I look at the only picture I have of my family, and there is my mother, my father, and my brother, all with natural, fair skin; and then there is me, with an unnaturally white color of skin. It makes me look dead, like a vampire. I don’t like it how people expect me to be strong. I may be somewhat gentlemanly, but I despise the discomfort of gentlemanly clothing, and I absolutely despise going to the gym or displaying the force I lack.
I was defused today by an intervention counselor. I didn’t understand the urgency of my problems, but I somehow was led to the appointment the day before.
It took him a little while for him to understand that I wasn’t at imminent threat to die or kill myself. I don’t want to do those things. But he was confrontational enough to bring me to the crux of the matter.
I took two tests, one today and one yesterday. Suppose the results came back on Saturday, and I failed and everything turns to crap. Now what does my life amount to? What meaning is there left in my life?
It took me a long time to answer this question. Instead, I explained to him the long dependency chain. If I slip up, I won’t get a scholarship, and I’ll enslave myself to work for the rest of my life. Or, I will not get a degree and I will not obtain the credentials needed for my ideas to be accepted by others.
He asked me about a famous person. I told him the most famous and cliche example, Albert Einstein, and even told him it was cliche. But he was satisfied, and I was able to explain how he just wrote a paper on mass-energy equivalence and then his life jumped from working at a patent office to being a talented individual, and then it all goes uphill to legendary status. And it doesn’t make sense.
I don’t remember exactly what he said, but he basically told me not that it doesn’t matter, but rather that we find another way. Even if I do get a PhD in something, or not, the world will always try to justify opposing me and my ideas. He asked what I like to do, or if I liked to do something, what it would be: I answered solving problems. Satisfied with the answer, he complimented my knack for being an analytical person, and then went on to reveal that he was actually transgender. I did not suspect anything at all, actually, and I took a good look at him: he seemed completely male, except for his pink socks and tiny transgender tattoo. I was somewhat impressed.
Finally, he told me that he’s not really sure either if I really do have some kind of Asperger’s – he observes that I do exhibit feelings for things and hypotheticals that people with Asperger’s would not – but he also hints that it doesn’t really matter, that I should just naturally allow myself to develop.
And I left the session with him telling me that the only thing that can hold me up is “celebrating myself” more (and being more selfish).
So I started doing things again.
It’s hard to keep your mind at peace when you arrive to your dorm at night and check Canvas, only for it to tell you that you got 12/20 on your most recent programming assignment, only because you failed 22 unit tests pertaining to some broken function (that you tested, but not rigorously enough, it seems!) and nothing more. On top of that, you read the last half of The Crucible (which, as you know, is obviously a very peaceful book) until 10pm, and you have two exams this week, can’t wait to see how horribly you failed Thursday’s calculus quiz, and you never have any idea what Monday’s CS quiz will be over.
I explained to my father about how merit-based scholarships were oversaturated with elite 4.00 GPA students, who predictably sweep and scoop more scholarship money than they really need. The only way for me to ever have an opportunity to get a scholarship is to also have a 4.00 GPA, and right now, that’s pretty much impossible. It is sincerely impossible for me to maintain perfection on everything. I would go insane if I tried – and indeed, I am already going insane. He just tells me to forget about it. Just go to college and take classes and learn.
When the professors look for TAs, do they privately go up to the fifteen best students of the class and offer them a position? I wish I could impart a humor and energy on students. Most TAs are awfully boring or emit an atmosphere of superiority and “you’re supposed to fail, just like me.”
When I see other students smile and laugh and talk to each other, and never about their grades, I often wonder if I really can consider myself a legitimate member of society. Companies are “looking for me,” but they’re not really looking for me. They’re looking for people with my intellect, but not my personality. They are not looking for people who will muse for hours on the same problem, sleep and dream about the problem, and come the next day and keep working on the same problem.
Society is not looking for people who don’t know how to act in front of people of the opposite gender, people who speak older than they actually are, people who are not gullible enough that they criticize and question everything instead.
I can’t keep writing. I am becoming hysterical again. My thoughts are scattering.
I don’t feel like I’ve touched this blog in quite some time. Don’t worry, I’m still committed to finishing the account of the Japan trip, and I am quite close to finishing it (although I feel as if I should not finish it – it does not deserve a sense of completeness, or else I may cease to think about it any further).
Last week was extremely difficult; this week, however, has been fairly light. But I have come to some major revelations that I did not really think of in depth until now, and their repercussions are not trivial.
There are two main observations, one of which was formulated by me, and the counselor somewhat supported, and the other of which was entirely raised by the counselor.
These writings just get uglier and uglier, don’t they? Why do I do this? And yet it takes a certain courage to do this. I know people are reading, but I don’t really care that much. I’ve written enough controversial material already, and I think people at this point wouldn’t really be shocked. And again, they are observations; they are not final verdicts on anything.
1. My sexuality – or lack thereof
I am increasingly convinced that I am asexual. And I thought I was out of the fray, that I had it totally figured it out, that I’m straight, end of story! But no, it turns out that I placed little thought into sexuality – mostly because I had none. I currently have no sex drive. All those times in high school where I wanted to be with a girl – the fantasy was never about having intercourse with the person. In fact, as people matured and started making relationships and getting into the game, I became increasingly alienated from them. I could not understand cues from other people who may have at some point desired to be with me – nor did I understand how to emit cues of my own. I am a bird that does not know its song – and it is not interested in singing it anymore.
If I really am asexual, then I feel somewhat comforted – there’s a term which I can stand by. Yet if so, how will I explain it to others who have an interest in knowing such things? More importantly, how will I explain to my parents that I’m not interested in sex? It’s such a complicated map of causality. It wasn’t caused by anything in particular, but rather gradually became both the cause and effect. I didn’t learn how to converse at an emotion level with girls, and therefore never sought any meaningful, deep relationship with them. This caused me, over time, to lose interest in “playing the game.” But I still want a meaningful, deep relationship with a girl, that hasn’t changed. But what has is now the need to tell them, look, the end goal of this relationship is not sex. And that limits my options.
How do I feel about this? For one, I feel weak. Libido is an integral part, it seems, of one’s masculinity, especially in American culture. Therefore, if I have no libido, then my masculinity is diminished. I also feel like some sort of domesticated animal. I imagine my skin is made of some tight blubber or cartilage, and I have no privates, and I’m happily cuddling away with someone and feeling giddier than I ever have been. (“Giddy” – that’s a word I haven’t seen since I read the cringe-worthy Animorphs back in middle school.) And then, perhaps one day, my rights are denied to me, or for some inexplicable reason I am placed as a subordinate in the social ladder.
The final question is, is it a sin to feel this way, to have no sexual attraction? On one hand, priests are bound to celibacy, but that is an obligatory sacrifice (it seems to be a challenge for many for one’s fleshly desires to not outweigh their desires to fulfill God’s will). But on the other, humans were designed to “be fruitful and multiply,” and it is not natural for one to not wish to procreate to continue the human race.
Yes, out of the blue, he said that my experiences of lacking an understanding of social workings “lines up” with Asperger’s. No, of course not, I am not comfortable carrying the knowledge that I “might” have Asperger’s. It is debilitating to find when one’s current mental state fits into a medical condition, and you let the medical condition morph you and excuse you out of the orthodox parts of society.
Then again, doubt and denial is just one of the stages of grief. Is it even true? Do I even want to undertake a diagnostic process? I don’t think so.
I want to be normal. Everyone wants to be “normal.” And I have reached a point in my life where I can definitively say that there is something wrong with me, and I don’t know what it is.
I’m listening to Tokyo FM World through Radio Garden. I tend to listen to it when I am absolutely bored and have some kind of interest in Japan in my mind because there are often English speakers talking when I’m listening, even though it’s 2 AM over there and most likely a prerecorded program. The program is a conversation with a guy about who lived in Boulder, CO and now has lived in Tokyo for 14 years, talking to a woman who has lived in Japan for the longest time. Both their parents are from different cultures. The guy has a passion in photography and has endeavored in a project involving taking instant pictures of families in disaster situations, in which these families have lost everything in a tsunami, earthquake, or some other natural disaster. The lady has a decent American accent with a tiny British bend, but also has an authentic, fluid Japanese voice.
When you compare losing everything to giving and taking cultures, it seems like anything is better than losing everything. Everyone should be happy for what they have. Yet here I am, lamenting how learning one thing causes something else to slip from my mind.
Being in university has cost me a great deal.
It has cost me near 100% of my usable time dealing with assignments from only four classes. Embarrassing, to say the least.
It has cost me personal projects I thought I could excellently progress in. Animated Chatroom? Can’t do that, you have other coding projects to tend to, like a backend in a language you don’t understand (Rust). Publish the new AO website? Can’t do that, you got something due tomorrow.
It has cost me my ability to absorb myself in other things that do not directly pertain to my major (the major does not define me!). I don’t need to be an engineering major to learn how to use a CNC. Besides, I’m interested in machining that does not require a CNC. What if I wanted to make an O-ring seal to fix a “junk” engine? What if I wanted to construct something that is made of something that is not wood or PLA/ABS plastic? Nobody knows how to do that, it seems.
It has cost me in my usage of Spanish (there is hardly a chance to practice or use that here). My only chance to exercise it is on a Thursday night when my parents decide to call me, or whenever I go home, or whenever I am with family (i.e. at my uncle’s house, three times a year).
I can’t learn Japanese. I wish I could do these billion things, but there’s literally no time to do all of them. I hate the feeling. My time is so fragmented, I take 4 hours of classes daily, but the gaps in between are too tiny to do anything productive.
I thought I could fix this by buying books of other languages, but my time problems still exist. I remain too anxious to read a book standing still. It has little to do with technology addiction. I don’t care about my phone. People call me or message me so infrequently that I could go a whole 16 hours without receiving a single text message or phone call; that, or my parents call me 10 times, leave a voicemail, send me text messages, and finally I find out how many times they’ve been worriedly trying to call me. Just call me once and I will call back.
What exactly does it cost me to do what I’m doing right now – that is, living? Am I delusional to minimize all costs, including the cost for myself to live?
The human brain only retain what it needs to retain. It will not retain Japanese if I do not need it, nor will it retain Spanish if I do not need it. Inversely, if the human brain needs to learn something to survive, it will learn it; hence why after a certain threshold of prior knowledge, foreigners can learn Japanese in a matter of months simply being in Japan and interacting with people.
What exactly does my brain need to retain if I’m stuck here in my dorm, doing homework for all the time that I am not in class?
I’m taking 13 credit hours, but in reality, I’m taking 17 hours of classes every week. I take 4 hours of classes on Monday and Tuesday; 2 hours of classes on Wednesday and Friday; and 5 hours on Thursday. This is not to mention my (attempted) involvement in the other organizations I am a member of.
I have a cold. It sucks. From the moment I felt a sore throat, I knew that a cold was brewing up and I’d soon have the roulette of annoying symptoms: mucus, loud coughing, and clogged sinuses. The most annoying thing about mucus is that after a small amount of time, it solidifies, so after wiping my right nostril with my wrist, after a while my wrist feels stiff, along with half of my face. So today, I am enduring my third day of these annoying symptoms, with no medicine to relieve my symptoms. Yet I have always been skeptical of taking medicine for the cold: if the symptoms were not required and can be safely suppressed, what is the point of having these inflammatory responses in the first place? Thus, wouldn’t taking medicine simply abate the recovery process?
I thought of putting a mask on, like a Japanese person, but I fear that people in class will try to convince me to take it off and “act like other people,” or assume that I’m just a weeb who watches too much anime and enjoys taking pieces of culture that don’t belong to him.
Now, another wave of exams is coming. I don’t really care so much about exams, simply because trying to study for an exam is compensating for a failure to learn something in the past.
Total hours spent playing games this week: 0.
Total hours spent working on personal projects: 0.5.
Total hours spent doing homework: ~22.
Total hours spent in class: 17.
Total hours spent sleeping: 56.
Total hours spent doing “nothing”: 19.
Total hours spent fulfilling social obligations: 13.
Total hours left unaccounted for: 43. Probably also spent doing nothing.
Most of the time spent during “nothing” is time that is too narrow to do anything productive, such as an hour between classes, or travel time, which is around 15 minutes.
My parents expect me to be enjoying college. Yes, I feel somewhat all right now, but no, I’m not enjoying college. No matter how much work I decide to put into something, I still get an A- or something in an assignment. I don’t want to hear arguments anymore. People say “oh yeah college is hard, you’re supposed to fail,” but as I previously mentioned, why must I fail when there exists a person who excelled? Why must I be like everyone else?
I don’t waste my time on Reddit. Reddit’s front page is supposed to be “guaranteed to be good,” but on slow days, it’s just a smeared image of most Reddit users’ political alignments. Even if it’s sensationalist, has a misleading title, or has misleading content, they’ll upvote by the thousands because the title just makes them feel good. And then in the comments, they’ll make sweeping generalizations about things they have little knowledge over, because again, crowd psychology. So on such slow days, Reddit just feels like any other cable news outlet: the top posts obviously lean toward a direction, come out with purportedly “big breaking news,” obsess over small details or stories with dubious surrounding evidence. On one face, they holler “diversity!” and then on the other face, they holler, “f*** everything!” And, of course, there are all of the faces in between. The point is that the oft-strange distribution of upvotes makes it unclear what ideas people actually support.
Anyway, I’m running out of time, my joints are stiffening up again from the freak cold weather, mucus is dripping from my right nostril, and it’s probably time to eat lunch.
I went to a short, casual retreat last night. I mostly enjoyed it, and I tried my best to repress any depressive episodes. Again, no one could tell how hurt I was, and I was ready to tell someone about how school has scarred my mind.
I realized what all of these vivid memories share in common: they were a time when I took the burden off my shoulders for a while. Japan. Kerrville. South Padre Island. I enjoyed them because my mind grew simple, and all there was to think about was the moment. Whether it was a family adventure (where there is mostly a sight to behold which we had never seen) or a personal experience (where, of our youthful selves’ blissful actions, there is nothing to regret), I actually took in physical stimulus, and at the very end the emotional stimulus wrapped itself up and created a simple, holistic theme for the entire experience that made all of the sense in the world.
But the most difficult part of it all is coming back; stepping down; placing the burden back on my shoulders; latching the shackles of work and obligations back onto my wrists and ankles, knowing that right after my enjoyment, I must return to my monotonous, boring ways of anxiety, regret, and work.
Back on the bus trip between Arashiyama Park and Kyomizu-dera, I recall listening to Mrs. To. on the bus talking about something related to college admissions, or something like that, and I answered back with where I was going to college. I remember mentioning UIL, but I cannot recall in what context. But promptly after my small contributions to the discussion, I reminded myself that it is not correct to be looking back to our normal lives when there are things to be seen right now, and we are paying to be here. And that moment gave me a slight bit of stress, which I was able to eliminate in a matter of minutes to continue enjoying the tour.
Do you know why I have subconsciously delayed finishing the account of Japan? It is because I don’t want to write down how it ended, and how it felt to step back down to my regular life, because that is the end of the account. Once I finish it, it is likely that the memories will finally clear themselves from my brain, and I will forget almost every detail of the trip, because that is how the brain works. It is also becoming increasingly painful to attempt to recall Japan, not because I have to scrape hard for memories, but because there is a growing disconnect between today and June 26, 2017. My mental state is rotating and warping (similar to how the graph in Gource periodically rotates and rearranges), and soon the mental states will differ so much that I will be unable to regenerate a straight chronology of events and minutia.
Likewise, my mental state during these events and immediately after the events cause an emotional imbalance that is so difficult to control. And my counselor doesn’t seem to be doing anything. He just listens to me for the whole hour and asks questions a few times, says “mm,” but mostly keeps quiet. He’s not even a professional, he’s an intern. Does he think that my problems are just “average,” or what? I will run out of individual sessions before he even presents solutions, and now he is starting to stall them out by setting them to every two weeks. I’ve gotten more help from reading articles on the Internet than getting it personally from a “licensed individual.”
This sucks. I wish that when I had a happy moment in my life, it wouldn’t swing back around to remind me how boring, dull, and solitary my regular life is.
The one thing that college has caused (or, perhaps, forced) me to discover is the human limit. I am not referring to how fast I can run, or other purely physical characteristics. Rather, I am referring to the fact that there are 24 hours in a day, and we must sleep for one third of that time to remain sane, leaving us with a great multitude of things we can do in one day.
But not really, because for the past half-semester, I have found myself mostly slaving away at the same things over and over, things that do not really stimulate me, things that don’t seem to move me forward. And then I don’t have time to pursue the things I really do want to pursue and have desired to pursue since the summer.
I read somewhere, probably some Academia.SE question about authorship and credit of some PhD thesis, that ideas a really worth a dime a dozen and only gain exorbitant value when they are worked, realized, and made into physical form. You know and have read far too closely about the insane ideas I have; and by this argument, they are utterly worthless, and I thus deserve no credit for them, because while I may show all of the intention in the world to make these things, I do not actually do them, nor do I find time or people or resources or money to do them.
It sucks to know that I’m stuck taking theatre class for an hour and thirty, getting a 6/10 on a quiz because the wording of the questions they ask just sucks, and they ignore almost all questions asked. The professors are untouchable and most content questions from students are answered by the TAs, or fall outside the scope of the class so they are given the most ambiguous answer possible and then forgotten about. For instance, regarding contemporary examples of romanticism, is dystopia the ultimate evolution of romanticism? Again, another question spurned. Basically, why don’t you write a 300-page dissertation on it and we’ll be the judge of how well the idea holds.
Is this what I’m here for? I spend money just to pretend I’m learning “useful things” so I can get a degree and pretend I “learned” something useful or fun or convenient. Am I just not there yet? And at any rate, my mother just gives me the old “c’est la vide” spiel while she gives me a haircut and points out all of my dandruff. I don’t want to wash my hair because of all of the hair I lose during the process.
Oh yeah, and I also borked the Raspberry Pi. I think it kernel panicked when I restarted it after it lost connection momentarily and got “stuck” on installing a new version of libc. So now I can’t do anything with it for two weeks until I go home and figure out what the heck the problem is.
And all that information I do learn, all that concrete poured into the so-called “liberal arts foundation” of the student, the American populace absolutely does not give a crap about. They don’t care if A Tempest ended with the island being overtaken with rats or possums. They don’t care if romanticism is the root of most melodrama we see so commonly today. Heck, when was the last time I was presented with an everyday problem and had to use calculus to solve it? When did I ever have to do anything except rot my sorry little brain during a plane trip watching a Hollywood film, the epitome of anti-culture that is now coming crashing down in the face of indie film and intellectualism? An intellectualism that seems to be buried beneath the social interactions of every day, perhaps?
Maybe I’m just arrogant and incompetent and can’t see through myself. Trolls and political pundits love to tell people, “Oh, but you don’t have to go to college!” But I do because it is tradition, and probably the safest shot to actually doing what I want to do in the future. Don’t look at Zuckerberg, look at Page whose thesis came to be the basis of Google.
And I don’t want to converse with intelligent people because like me, they love to debate and tell people they’re wrong and tell people something new so they feel dumber. And I don’t want to converse with unintelligent people, either, because they’re a burden to explain things to. I guess I just want to converse with sympathetic, supportive people. That is, the kind of people I don’t have in my life because I haven’t found them.
I just mope around college, not really sure what to do. And the things I committed to doing on the first week or two, I don’t know if I want to keep doing them. My brain feels like it is about to shut down again. I want to eat something, but my hunger is so minuscule, my brain simply does not feel inclined to go and get something.
Gah! I’m just so frustrated with myself! How long do I have to wait before I start enjoying college? I feel like I’m just burning time writing this crap, and burning time looking at what junk people say on Discord, and burning time trying to meet deadlines, and then at the end there is no time to hunker down and actually have fun doing something lasting.
I’m back where I was the second week of class. It’s October now. Little has changed, I just know a little bit more of how to interact with people, but the core of the problem is still not resolved: how do I actually find people and approach them? Maybe it is my sex hormones screwing with me, and this is just yet another contorted version of “I want a girlfriend,” but I can’t have one because I can’t find one.
When will this madness stop?