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Jan. 28th, 2010 07:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
commotiocordisYou know what bothers me? The fact that I've never really been good at anything.
Ironic!LOL, Alexandria's melancholy when she's 28 hours from failing an organic chemistry test she can't get her stupid ass to study for and has slept weirdly (and by weird, I mean in 2 hour bursts with a very low total hour count) all week. It's 5am, which is probably the reason, though I've never found myself unable to allow the slightest stimuli to throw me into ". . . I fail" mode no matter what time of the day it is.
I'm going to blame it on Sherlock Holmes. I fucking love that fandom, but for the first time in my life, I find myself wondering if it's really one I should spend much time in for mental health reasons. One of the reasons I "fucking love that fandom" is that I (as I have mentioned before) so completely identify with Holmes himself that it's scary. Fics where the man is practically having orgasms at orchestral music? That's me. Random fits of self-destructive depression? Me again. Very strong aversion to expressing emotions unless specifically deigning to? Yup. Liking to pretend he's in control of everything but so totally not (in his case, especially re: cocaine)? *waves hello* Needing puzzles and mental stimulation (the entire reason, as has been well espoused in other rants, I've been planning to specialize in emergency medicine rather than one of the more homogenous specialties), that's so me. Diving so deeply into whatever's currently captured the mind that you forget to breathe? Sometimes literally (see point 1 re: music).
But he's good at what he does. I mean, he's goddamn Sherlock Holmes. But as expressed in STUD, he's excellent at some things and knows nothing about most others. I'm the opposite. I know/can do a little bit of everything. More of some things than others, but I was the kid who learned all the stringed instruments proficiently rather than get really good at one of them. I throw out shitty fanfiction (not going to lie, this was probably the main trigger of current digression into failmood, deciding that I suck again) and somewhat decent scientific papers and pretty good literary analyses and passable legislative/political analyses, etc. etc. rather than being majestic at any one of them. With the way I get obsessed with certain things and let them be all-consuming while I'm into them (a. like SH the man and b. like me with SH fandom atm), you'd expect that I could become more than "passably proficient" at anything. If you'll permit a certain ironic self-acrimony on my words here, I'm a fucking genius when it comes to logical and verbal reasoning and shit like that according to every test I've ever taken (though I'd be afraid to retake one now, as I really really really think somewhere along the line, something in my brain fucked up--past few years, I have the memory of a goldfish and it scares me), but apparently I'm so incapable of applying myself that I pretty much just fail at everything.
I know, what the fuck, right? She's really lost it this time, holding herself up to a fictional character. Welcome to how I feel. It's so clearly stupid that I'm embarrassed for having written this whole thing, but I'm English. I carry on. (Except not at all, but mangling the quote by Tenth Doctor there made me smile a bit, so we're leaving it.)
I could blame this whinging all on. . . idk, a whole host of things. My self-image fail (of which this is probably a prime example, though it looks like a pretty darn realistic summary of affairs), the fact I've recently re-decided I can't write for shit (I write fic in cycles--a whole lot of it, then decide it all sucks and don't post it/take it down/leave it in disgust because I can't stand to look at it again, and then write nothing for months or years until I've forgotten that people who desperately need approval shouldn't post shit on the internet), the fact that I'm about to fail another organic chemistry test and it's all my own fault because I won't study (harkens back to my "if I don't study/if I do it at the last minute, then when I get less than a perfect grade it won't be because I'm not smart enough" bullshit I've pulled all my life), the fact that for alternatingly no apparent reason and stupid minor triggers I've wanted to slit my wrists for two weeks now, but it's just. . . I mean, goddamn. Can't I be happy for fucking once? The answer's obviously no, because I'm such a perfectionist--and ay, there's the crux of the matter. I was told that I was smart and then expected to be it and if I can't be good at everything I want to be good at something but I can't manage that either.
Everything to me is a sign of weakness. I've gained what, 40 pounds in a year and a half now? Failure. I try to couch it in stupid excuses about my metabolism being fucked, how I still don't eat carbs or red meat (save a few times when I'm at home and the fam cooks it) and cook all my own food and still average <1000 calories a day even though I decided to not bother counting anymore since it's obviously not doing me any good, and so it's obviously not my fault; but seriously, self? Who the fuck else's fault could it be? I got a C in organic chemistry last semester by <1%. Could have easily gone and fought that and at least gotten even closer to the B (there were a few points I knew offhand didn't get counted), but I'm obviously not anything like SH because I'm a coward. I still sit in my room and write shit like this that I'm never even going to read again, much less anybody else, rather than trying to prevent same situation from occurring again this semester by actually studying. And the list continues.
I don't know. I doubt anybody would walk up to me and say "Man, you sure are a lot like Sherlock Holmes." I mean, medical mysteries, perhaps (House = me since always, but for some reason I never really identified with him so heartfelt-ly like I do SH proper), but I don't go around helping the cops nor buggering my roommate (okay, maybe not explicitly in canon, but let a fangirl inject a little bit of fun to this diatribe) nor shooting up cocaine (though my innate curiosity about everything would probably prevent me from declining if it was offered, TBH), but it's more on an emotional level, I think.
Besides all of the above enumerated similarities, ever since I was little, I am the calculating machine. When the whole family was dragged to one session of some stupid-assed therapy bullshit when my mom got the terminal diagnosis on her pregnancy, my mom mentioned that I freaked her out by not showing enough emotion. The therapist said "maybe you should try to cry more", and not wanting to make people more upset, I sobbed my way through Riley's entire short life because I was told to, not because I was sad. Sounds weird coming from somebody who'll tear up out of frustration, but from real sadness at real-life situations? I'm so much better at bottling things up than responding appropriately. Also, I don't fall in love with anything but fiction because I've known what I've wanted to do with my life for so long (though it regularly gets confused with politician/lawyer and actress, LOL, those are much more easily pursued as hobbies than medicine can be) and everything else is illogical--why would I date in high school; I'm going off to college. Why would I date in college; I've still got med school and residency and years left to go. Though I'm not sure if it's more the illogic of it or the fact that I simply am incapable of love for anything but the unattainable, the result is the same. It sounds so horrible to say, but the only reason I could see myself getting married before all of that is done (or really, ever) is for purely calculated reasons (as with SH and his faux engagement in CHAS)--help paying for medical school or tax breaks or some shit. It sounds even more horrible to say that as things stand now, if such an opportunity fell into my lap, I would very strongly consider it. I wouldn't say I have no morals, but mine differ strongly from most, I think. Moar Holmesian-ness. Jesus fuck, if I could even just have the man's virtues along with his vices, I would be so happy.
Whatever. It's now an hour anda half 45 minutes another hour later (I haven't been writing this the whole time, obvs) and I really do need to perhaps consider actually studying or something more productive than "Emo!Alexandria angsts that she's not a fictional character". *sigh* This makes absolutely no sense when read in its entirety (much like everything I write) but I can't really be arsed to fix it. To chemistry, as due to the aforementioned messed up sleeping schedule, I have no idea when next I will be tired.
Ironic!LOL, Alexandria's melancholy when she's 28 hours from failing an organic chemistry test she can't get her stupid ass to study for and has slept weirdly (and by weird, I mean in 2 hour bursts with a very low total hour count) all week. It's 5am, which is probably the reason, though I've never found myself unable to allow the slightest stimuli to throw me into ". . . I fail" mode no matter what time of the day it is.
I'm going to blame it on Sherlock Holmes. I fucking love that fandom, but for the first time in my life, I find myself wondering if it's really one I should spend much time in for mental health reasons. One of the reasons I "fucking love that fandom" is that I (as I have mentioned before) so completely identify with Holmes himself that it's scary. Fics where the man is practically having orgasms at orchestral music? That's me. Random fits of self-destructive depression? Me again. Very strong aversion to expressing emotions unless specifically deigning to? Yup. Liking to pretend he's in control of everything but so totally not (in his case, especially re: cocaine)? *waves hello* Needing puzzles and mental stimulation (the entire reason, as has been well espoused in other rants, I've been planning to specialize in emergency medicine rather than one of the more homogenous specialties), that's so me. Diving so deeply into whatever's currently captured the mind that you forget to breathe? Sometimes literally (see point 1 re: music).
But he's good at what he does. I mean, he's goddamn Sherlock Holmes. But as expressed in STUD, he's excellent at some things and knows nothing about most others. I'm the opposite. I know/can do a little bit of everything. More of some things than others, but I was the kid who learned all the stringed instruments proficiently rather than get really good at one of them. I throw out shitty fanfiction (not going to lie, this was probably the main trigger of current digression into failmood, deciding that I suck again) and somewhat decent scientific papers and pretty good literary analyses and passable legislative/political analyses, etc. etc. rather than being majestic at any one of them. With the way I get obsessed with certain things and let them be all-consuming while I'm into them (a. like SH the man and b. like me with SH fandom atm), you'd expect that I could become more than "passably proficient" at anything. If you'll permit a certain ironic self-acrimony on my words here, I'm a fucking genius when it comes to logical and verbal reasoning and shit like that according to every test I've ever taken (though I'd be afraid to retake one now, as I really really really think somewhere along the line, something in my brain fucked up--past few years, I have the memory of a goldfish and it scares me), but apparently I'm so incapable of applying myself that I pretty much just fail at everything.
I know, what the fuck, right? She's really lost it this time, holding herself up to a fictional character. Welcome to how I feel. It's so clearly stupid that I'm embarrassed for having written this whole thing, but I'm English. I carry on. (Except not at all, but mangling the quote by Tenth Doctor there made me smile a bit, so we're leaving it.)
I could blame this whinging all on. . . idk, a whole host of things. My self-image fail (of which this is probably a prime example, though it looks like a pretty darn realistic summary of affairs), the fact I've recently re-decided I can't write for shit (I write fic in cycles--a whole lot of it, then decide it all sucks and don't post it/take it down/leave it in disgust because I can't stand to look at it again, and then write nothing for months or years until I've forgotten that people who desperately need approval shouldn't post shit on the internet), the fact that I'm about to fail another organic chemistry test and it's all my own fault because I won't study (harkens back to my "if I don't study/if I do it at the last minute, then when I get less than a perfect grade it won't be because I'm not smart enough" bullshit I've pulled all my life), the fact that for alternatingly no apparent reason and stupid minor triggers I've wanted to slit my wrists for two weeks now, but it's just. . . I mean, goddamn. Can't I be happy for fucking once? The answer's obviously no, because I'm such a perfectionist--and ay, there's the crux of the matter. I was told that I was smart and then expected to be it and if I can't be good at everything I want to be good at something but I can't manage that either.
Everything to me is a sign of weakness. I've gained what, 40 pounds in a year and a half now? Failure. I try to couch it in stupid excuses about my metabolism being fucked, how I still don't eat carbs or red meat (save a few times when I'm at home and the fam cooks it) and cook all my own food and still average <1000 calories a day even though I decided to not bother counting anymore since it's obviously not doing me any good, and so it's obviously not my fault; but seriously, self? Who the fuck else's fault could it be? I got a C in organic chemistry last semester by <1%. Could have easily gone and fought that and at least gotten even closer to the B (there were a few points I knew offhand didn't get counted), but I'm obviously not anything like SH because I'm a coward. I still sit in my room and write shit like this that I'm never even going to read again, much less anybody else, rather than trying to prevent same situation from occurring again this semester by actually studying. And the list continues.
I don't know. I doubt anybody would walk up to me and say "Man, you sure are a lot like Sherlock Holmes." I mean, medical mysteries, perhaps (House = me since always, but for some reason I never really identified with him so heartfelt-ly like I do SH proper), but I don't go around helping the cops nor buggering my roommate (okay, maybe not explicitly in canon, but let a fangirl inject a little bit of fun to this diatribe) nor shooting up cocaine (though my innate curiosity about everything would probably prevent me from declining if it was offered, TBH), but it's more on an emotional level, I think.
Besides all of the above enumerated similarities, ever since I was little, I am the calculating machine. When the whole family was dragged to one session of some stupid-assed therapy bullshit when my mom got the terminal diagnosis on her pregnancy, my mom mentioned that I freaked her out by not showing enough emotion. The therapist said "maybe you should try to cry more", and not wanting to make people more upset, I sobbed my way through Riley's entire short life because I was told to, not because I was sad. Sounds weird coming from somebody who'll tear up out of frustration, but from real sadness at real-life situations? I'm so much better at bottling things up than responding appropriately. Also, I don't fall in love with anything but fiction because I've known what I've wanted to do with my life for so long (though it regularly gets confused with politician/lawyer and actress, LOL, those are much more easily pursued as hobbies than medicine can be) and everything else is illogical--why would I date in high school; I'm going off to college. Why would I date in college; I've still got med school and residency and years left to go. Though I'm not sure if it's more the illogic of it or the fact that I simply am incapable of love for anything but the unattainable, the result is the same. It sounds so horrible to say, but the only reason I could see myself getting married before all of that is done (or really, ever) is for purely calculated reasons (as with SH and his faux engagement in CHAS)--help paying for medical school or tax breaks or some shit. It sounds even more horrible to say that as things stand now, if such an opportunity fell into my lap, I would very strongly consider it. I wouldn't say I have no morals, but mine differ strongly from most, I think. Moar Holmesian-ness. Jesus fuck, if I could even just have the man's virtues along with his vices, I would be so happy.
Whatever. It's now an hour and
