There’s a lot of sayings about how you don’t realize something’s bad until it’s too late. Like slowly boiling a frog or something. Or not realizing you might drown until the water reaches your knees. Things haven’t been so bad. I haven’t really felt it until this week. I thought I managed to get a hang of all this grad student stuff, but then I step back and look at it and the only thing that rings in my head is “you don’t belong here”. Over and over and over again. I know it. Everyone in the lab knows it. My advisor might not know it yet, but he’ll figure it out sooner or later. I got here because of a fluke. Because some desk jockey looked at my resume and my grades and where I came from and all the other pointless numbers and thought “This one”. They knew nothing about me. They didn’t know that I’m a major screw up that has been bumbling his way through life and got to where he was because of a series of idiotic flukes. So they hand me a bunch of money and say “This is a good one. This one will be worth the investment. This one will actually make something of himself.” Except none of that is true. I’m not a good one. I’m not worth the investment. I will always be a nothing. So now I’m a zillion miles away from where I grew up, alone in an unfamiliar state, trying to fool everyone and myself into thinking that I have any idea of what I’m doing. Except I’m not good at that and they can see right through me. I always feel like the dumbest one if the room no matter where I go. So I have to present on tuesday what little miniscule progress I’ve made this past month. And everyone again will think “Great this idiot again.” Just no good. Absolutely no good. Just a fuck up.
I don’t think about her too often. When I do it hurts, but then it stops. I will never understand why. Why any of it. And even though I keep telling myself that I’m never going to get that answer, it doesn’t make it stop.
I’m walking again. Glad to be walking. My ankle hurts still, but oh well. I have physical therapy this week. Don’t think I need it, but my mom wants me to go.
I curious hypothetical I’ve thought about since highschool was what if you can remove the parts of the mind you don’t like. The desire to be loved. The fear of failure. The painful memories. What if you want just cut out all of it. Wouldn’t that be nice.
I guess that water up to the knees metaphor is better illustrated with these. Specifically the radio head one. That one is my favorite of theirs.