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?