lol...
My therapist had me write this out: Supposedly my train of thought that leads to my panic attacks. It was too hard to do it in first person, even bullet point wise, and I found it much easier to write about someone else:
He sits quietly, flipping through pages in his textbook; the feeling of inadequacy simmers slightly below the surface, threatening to boil over and consume him. He knows that it’s there- he dreads its coming much as one living in Louisiana would dread hurricanes for years to come. As he continues reading, the feelings start to burst through the layers of mental protection that he has added over the years. Much like water seeping through a dam, it starts with small cracks in the clay, a though here or there that pops up.
It always starts with his appearance- the weakest and least buffered of his worries. He sits there, no longer reading, instead focusing on plugging up that goddamn hole. He always feels like he’s not attractive enough, his hair is too curly and messy, his face should be bagged, his body is lumpy and oddly shaped, he is too fat, too Asian, too short. He tries to stem the flow by telling himself that it’ll get better- that people before have found him attractive and that perhaps it wouldn’t be long before someone came along that agreed with the past. But the feeling of wanting to tear his face out soon overpowers his weak resolve. It’s not as if that many people found him attractive in the past anyway. And most of them who found him attractive now were old. He wonders if this is the life he’s resigned to- whether or not he just give in and sleep with one of the forty five year old men that keep commenting on his profile.
And that’s usually when other cracks start to appear. Another steady trickle of thoughts flows steadily through his barriers. He can feel the rest of them pushing roughly, and he pushes back with all his might. He won’t. He refuses to sleep with them. He has boundaries, he has rules, he has morals, he has things that he wants to believe in so badly. Things like hope, love, and the good in people, and he throws these at the cracks, weakly bandaging the slits with beliefs that he knows won’t hold- not for long.
Usually the next to go is the belief of being inherently good. Spurred on by his feelings of not being attractive enough, he wonders why it matters to him anyway. There was once a time when it didn’t matter- it didn’t matter that no one found him attractive. But he was young, and foolish, and eleven. It was back before someone had found him attractive and had given to him the feeling of being wanted for being himself. But he can’t go back. Not anymore. So he curses himself at being so weak and desperate. That he would even consider sleeping with those men disgusts him. And he sits and wonders at what lengths he would go to recapture that feeling, the feeling of having a place in the world that is given freely, without any stipulations or requirements of being smart or beautiful. He frets that he’ll be desperate enough one day to step on other people’s toes “in the name of love.” He worries that one day in his desperate quest he’s going to forget how to treat normal people, he knows that he has it in him to be cruel, and he dreads returning to judging people with a critical eye. He’s vicious now. He knows it. He knows he tends to attack first before people can attack him. His humor has gotten more vicious, and his personality less open- and he hates it. He’s changed as a person and he knows it’s for the worse. He’s pretending to be someone who he isn’t because he’s weak. And he knows that he should have no place even asking for someone to love him for who he is. Because he is a arrogant, cruel, manipulative, needy bastard- and those types of people deserve to be alone.
He knows. And he doesn’t know why he hopes for otherwise. He knows that the only place for him is in the field of academia. The place where you are not judged for your appearance or your personality, but rather for your intelligence and your work ethic- things that he can easily control. You don’t need to be a good person to be a good scientist- and people to love just get in the way. But it was only a matter of time. He knows there’s not particular reason to want to go into academia- other than the security. He is not particularly drawn to academia like he isn’t particularly drawn to any occupation. Without the security to dream as a youth, he doesn’t know what is in his capabilities- or not. He doesn’t know what he can do. His entire life he’s been told things that he couldn’t do- and never once was told a thing that he could do. And so he lets his mind wander now, giving up completely on trying to stem the tide, and instead focusing on how there is nothing that he can do in life.
And that’s usually when the confidence in his intelligence goes. He knows that there are tons of smart people in the world. And many more that are less fucked up. That don’t go through this cycle of self hate that he knows holds him back, that distracts him, that consumes him- preventing him, especially during times of stress to reach his full capabilities. Smart people are a dime a dozen- he knows that, especially going to Caltech. Smart people are everywhere. Not even at Caltech, but at all other schools. There are a million smart people in the world, and he’s not that special- he’s not clearly better than they are. The only reason why he’s doing better than most is because he is so miserable that he drives himself to work obsessively, consuming himself to avoid feeling pain. He knows that he’s not as talented as the guy next door, or even his roommate. Only a few positions are offered in academia every year anyways. And like his father always told him, he is dumb and clearly not in the top 1% of his class across the nation, so there is no place for him in academia. So he wonders what he’s doing- at all…
And that’s when the torrent comes, obliterating the feeling of self worth, and it just spirals, going in cycles, a lost boy who doesn’t know what he wants. He wants to be loved, yet is not a good enough person to deserve it. He wants to a place in the world, but cannot find it. He doesn’t know what he wants or what he’s doing anymore. He looks around and there’s nowhere to run. And that’s when he realizes that truly, he is the only one desperately plugging the holes, and has been for years- with no one to support him. Clinging to foolish childish ideas of hope and love and all that shit. That one day someone will come. Well no one has come for nineteen fucking years. And he realizes just how stupid and foolish he was to believe that life was about living and all that shit. It’s just not worth it. And it’s not long before he wonders why he’s alive at all- and just wants everything to end. It’s not like anyone is ever going to find him attractive anyway. It’s not like he’s ever going to make it in academia. It’s not like he’s ever going to find the family he’s always wanted. It’s not like there’s a place for him in the world. As far as he’s concerned- he’s just another brain and pair of hands- another body and life devoted to furthering science- with no other reason for existence- and he knows the instant that it ends, there’ll be nothing left for him. It’ll be lights out.
He knows he’s pathetic and he doesn’t know what to do. He just wants everything to end so that he doesn’t have to keep thinking about it. Please, he just wants it all to end.
He sits quietly, flipping through pages in his textbook; the feeling of inadequacy simmers slightly below the surface, threatening to boil over and consume him. He knows that it’s there- he dreads its coming much as one living in Louisiana would dread hurricanes for years to come. As he continues reading, the feelings start to burst through the layers of mental protection that he has added over the years. Much like water seeping through a dam, it starts with small cracks in the clay, a though here or there that pops up.
It always starts with his appearance- the weakest and least buffered of his worries. He sits there, no longer reading, instead focusing on plugging up that goddamn hole. He always feels like he’s not attractive enough, his hair is too curly and messy, his face should be bagged, his body is lumpy and oddly shaped, he is too fat, too Asian, too short. He tries to stem the flow by telling himself that it’ll get better- that people before have found him attractive and that perhaps it wouldn’t be long before someone came along that agreed with the past. But the feeling of wanting to tear his face out soon overpowers his weak resolve. It’s not as if that many people found him attractive in the past anyway. And most of them who found him attractive now were old. He wonders if this is the life he’s resigned to- whether or not he just give in and sleep with one of the forty five year old men that keep commenting on his profile.
And that’s usually when other cracks start to appear. Another steady trickle of thoughts flows steadily through his barriers. He can feel the rest of them pushing roughly, and he pushes back with all his might. He won’t. He refuses to sleep with them. He has boundaries, he has rules, he has morals, he has things that he wants to believe in so badly. Things like hope, love, and the good in people, and he throws these at the cracks, weakly bandaging the slits with beliefs that he knows won’t hold- not for long.
Usually the next to go is the belief of being inherently good. Spurred on by his feelings of not being attractive enough, he wonders why it matters to him anyway. There was once a time when it didn’t matter- it didn’t matter that no one found him attractive. But he was young, and foolish, and eleven. It was back before someone had found him attractive and had given to him the feeling of being wanted for being himself. But he can’t go back. Not anymore. So he curses himself at being so weak and desperate. That he would even consider sleeping with those men disgusts him. And he sits and wonders at what lengths he would go to recapture that feeling, the feeling of having a place in the world that is given freely, without any stipulations or requirements of being smart or beautiful. He frets that he’ll be desperate enough one day to step on other people’s toes “in the name of love.” He worries that one day in his desperate quest he’s going to forget how to treat normal people, he knows that he has it in him to be cruel, and he dreads returning to judging people with a critical eye. He’s vicious now. He knows it. He knows he tends to attack first before people can attack him. His humor has gotten more vicious, and his personality less open- and he hates it. He’s changed as a person and he knows it’s for the worse. He’s pretending to be someone who he isn’t because he’s weak. And he knows that he should have no place even asking for someone to love him for who he is. Because he is a arrogant, cruel, manipulative, needy bastard- and those types of people deserve to be alone.
He knows. And he doesn’t know why he hopes for otherwise. He knows that the only place for him is in the field of academia. The place where you are not judged for your appearance or your personality, but rather for your intelligence and your work ethic- things that he can easily control. You don’t need to be a good person to be a good scientist- and people to love just get in the way. But it was only a matter of time. He knows there’s not particular reason to want to go into academia- other than the security. He is not particularly drawn to academia like he isn’t particularly drawn to any occupation. Without the security to dream as a youth, he doesn’t know what is in his capabilities- or not. He doesn’t know what he can do. His entire life he’s been told things that he couldn’t do- and never once was told a thing that he could do. And so he lets his mind wander now, giving up completely on trying to stem the tide, and instead focusing on how there is nothing that he can do in life.
And that’s usually when the confidence in his intelligence goes. He knows that there are tons of smart people in the world. And many more that are less fucked up. That don’t go through this cycle of self hate that he knows holds him back, that distracts him, that consumes him- preventing him, especially during times of stress to reach his full capabilities. Smart people are a dime a dozen- he knows that, especially going to Caltech. Smart people are everywhere. Not even at Caltech, but at all other schools. There are a million smart people in the world, and he’s not that special- he’s not clearly better than they are. The only reason why he’s doing better than most is because he is so miserable that he drives himself to work obsessively, consuming himself to avoid feeling pain. He knows that he’s not as talented as the guy next door, or even his roommate. Only a few positions are offered in academia every year anyways. And like his father always told him, he is dumb and clearly not in the top 1% of his class across the nation, so there is no place for him in academia. So he wonders what he’s doing- at all…
And that’s when the torrent comes, obliterating the feeling of self worth, and it just spirals, going in cycles, a lost boy who doesn’t know what he wants. He wants to be loved, yet is not a good enough person to deserve it. He wants to a place in the world, but cannot find it. He doesn’t know what he wants or what he’s doing anymore. He looks around and there’s nowhere to run. And that’s when he realizes that truly, he is the only one desperately plugging the holes, and has been for years- with no one to support him. Clinging to foolish childish ideas of hope and love and all that shit. That one day someone will come. Well no one has come for nineteen fucking years. And he realizes just how stupid and foolish he was to believe that life was about living and all that shit. It’s just not worth it. And it’s not long before he wonders why he’s alive at all- and just wants everything to end. It’s not like anyone is ever going to find him attractive anyway. It’s not like he’s ever going to make it in academia. It’s not like he’s ever going to find the family he’s always wanted. It’s not like there’s a place for him in the world. As far as he’s concerned- he’s just another brain and pair of hands- another body and life devoted to furthering science- with no other reason for existence- and he knows the instant that it ends, there’ll be nothing left for him. It’ll be lights out.
He knows he’s pathetic and he doesn’t know what to do. He just wants everything to end so that he doesn’t have to keep thinking about it. Please, he just wants it all to end.