Today was a good day. I felt the clouds lift, and I could talk to people again and laugh and make bad comic book related jokes. I love these sort of days.
I also love SEVT. I haven't really done anything much for it yet, but I'm so excited to get started! I'll teach myself Rhino (I think this is what the aero simulation software is called) so I can jump in right away and start working.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
of 2 minds
"I love solving physics problems" would be the easy way to put it. I want to be a course 8 major here at MIT, if I can figure out not to have another panic attack during the 8.012 exam (I KNEW EVERYTHING REALLY IT WASN'T A HARD TEST I HATE MY OVERACTIVE FLIGHT/FIGHT RESPONSE). I want to know how the world works, and if I don't study it I'll feel like I missed out on something vital.
Unfortunately, I'm uncertain if I love physics itself. When I sit down to solve physics questions, I block everything out-- crushing depression, loneliness, exhaustion, insecurity(basically any problem that I have at the moment) and it's just me, a sheet of paper, and clean numbers and diagrams. Everything gets broken down, and I feel a rush when I reach the right answer. A boost to my self esteem, however brief, and I can't help but smile a little bit and think that maybe there is something to me, after all- something a little special about the silent girl who can't make eye contact with strangers.
But I wonder if I could still love physics if I didn't have that moment where I hold my breath and check my answer against the given solution. Brains interest me as well, especially intelligence and how it emerges from such a jumbled network of cells. I could be course 9. Maybe I could be course 8 and 9 (unlikely). Maybe I could be nothing, drop out of MIT and spend my days living under the stars somewhere warm, reading philosophy and learning math and playing sudoku and communicating with strangers only through email.
Unfortunately, I'm uncertain if I love physics itself. When I sit down to solve physics questions, I block everything out-- crushing depression, loneliness, exhaustion, insecurity(basically any problem that I have at the moment) and it's just me, a sheet of paper, and clean numbers and diagrams. Everything gets broken down, and I feel a rush when I reach the right answer. A boost to my self esteem, however brief, and I can't help but smile a little bit and think that maybe there is something to me, after all- something a little special about the silent girl who can't make eye contact with strangers.
But I wonder if I could still love physics if I didn't have that moment where I hold my breath and check my answer against the given solution. Brains interest me as well, especially intelligence and how it emerges from such a jumbled network of cells. I could be course 9. Maybe I could be course 8 and 9 (unlikely). Maybe I could be nothing, drop out of MIT and spend my days living under the stars somewhere warm, reading philosophy and learning math and playing sudoku and communicating with strangers only through email.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
I am so fucking depressed. I haven't had a conversation with anyone lasting more than a minute and thirty seconds in over two weeks. I will be alone forever and I have nothing to look forward to in life. I hate myself for being pathetic and shy. I hate myself for a whole bunch of other things but I'm too tired to type them all here.
I am a fucking failure and if this doesn't improve soon I am jumping off the fucking roof of Macgregor.
I am a fucking failure and if this doesn't improve soon I am jumping off the fucking roof of Macgregor.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
i'm just a whiny emo bitch sometimes.
I feel most alone in a room full of people- always have, and despite how much I want to close my eyes and push away the though, to deny it, I know I always will. It's something about the way people can connect in crowded rooms, their ability to push themselves to walk up to strangers, reach out a hand and introduce themselves. The bravery of the initial hello- or even the appearance that it doesn't require any bravery whatsoever, that that action is almost nothing at all, that the ability to smile and find hobbies in common is something inborn, something so easy.
I remember, most vividly, a month after my acceptance to MIT. I was at the national level competition for a neuroscience competition for three days, sitting in the crowd watching the last lucky few competitors battle it out for the grand prize. I was sitting top left and back, surrounded by empty chairs. For no particular reason, I was in tears, which happens more often that I'd like to admit. I remember looking at the other 40 or so competitors, who were packed together close, in two rows, laughing and playing games with each other during the breaks in the competition. Why had they even bothered to get so close during the 3 days of the competition? Why did the girls flirt with the guys, the guys smile and flirt back? Why, when after 72 hours we'd all fly back to our different states and forget each other? I don't know the answer, except to guess that it's some inherent need to make connections. Do other people find meeting strangers enjoyable? After the competition, there was a facebook group. There was chatting. And I watched and read, in that pseudo-creepy way I have of attempting to live through other people on the internet. And eventually, nobody talked anymore. Eventually was a month, in this case. I was right, or so I thought, and concluded that nothing valuable had come out of the competition in terms of friendship. There was nothing lasting, and so I had lost nothing.
But there's always been some part of me that's missing, something vital I was born without. Walking around campus at my dream school, I should feel something other than a vague sinking, the onset of my "down" state of mind that lasts for months and drags me down to the ground. What does it feel like, then, to feel connected to the world? What does if feel like to be fearless, to not have to turn away from others in fear that they find you repulsive in some way? It's been 18 years of shutting my mouth and turning away from people, and I find myself thinking of fading away. If I died, would anyone but my family really care? Would some newspaper chalk it up to me being quiet, speechless and unknown- an occupational hazard of being human, that some strange ones are always born that aren't quite meant to survive this world?
I remember, most vividly, a month after my acceptance to MIT. I was at the national level competition for a neuroscience competition for three days, sitting in the crowd watching the last lucky few competitors battle it out for the grand prize. I was sitting top left and back, surrounded by empty chairs. For no particular reason, I was in tears, which happens more often that I'd like to admit. I remember looking at the other 40 or so competitors, who were packed together close, in two rows, laughing and playing games with each other during the breaks in the competition. Why had they even bothered to get so close during the 3 days of the competition? Why did the girls flirt with the guys, the guys smile and flirt back? Why, when after 72 hours we'd all fly back to our different states and forget each other? I don't know the answer, except to guess that it's some inherent need to make connections. Do other people find meeting strangers enjoyable? After the competition, there was a facebook group. There was chatting. And I watched and read, in that pseudo-creepy way I have of attempting to live through other people on the internet. And eventually, nobody talked anymore. Eventually was a month, in this case. I was right, or so I thought, and concluded that nothing valuable had come out of the competition in terms of friendship. There was nothing lasting, and so I had lost nothing.
But there's always been some part of me that's missing, something vital I was born without. Walking around campus at my dream school, I should feel something other than a vague sinking, the onset of my "down" state of mind that lasts for months and drags me down to the ground. What does it feel like, then, to feel connected to the world? What does if feel like to be fearless, to not have to turn away from others in fear that they find you repulsive in some way? It's been 18 years of shutting my mouth and turning away from people, and I find myself thinking of fading away. If I died, would anyone but my family really care? Would some newspaper chalk it up to me being quiet, speechless and unknown- an occupational hazard of being human, that some strange ones are always born that aren't quite meant to survive this world?
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