Sigh. Where were we?

Where was I?

Time seems to have gone by in an instant, time that I don’t wish to relive, time that I’m still living in that I want to get out of asap but I’m stuck in it.

Reading words is hard.

Thinking is hard.

Writing and self-contemplation are impossible.

Until now, I guess. I’ll stick with short sentences, in hopes that I can stick with it. Stick with the goals in my life, stick with the-

I’ve been waking up with an unshakeable sense of dread and nausea for the past few weeks. Not sure if that’s from covid, or the thought of having to call Panera.

I mean, what? Do we really need to talk about this? No?

I had a functional programming TA interview a few days ago. Heart rate through the roof. Interviewers did not give off good vibes. I had previously spent the entire day in my room, lacking the mental energy or clarity to get breakfast, and then, oops, I guess I missed lunch. I check my calendar. it’s 3:10PM, and I have an advisor meeting at 3:15PM. I recently switched from comp bio to CS, so this’ll be my first time with this advisor. I’m in such an awful state and haven’t eaten at all, but at least I need to look presentable. I [Make that calllll] eat some crackers and sprint down the seven flights of stairs of my dorm because I don’t trust the elevator and I make it to my advisor’s office just in time only to be held up for five minutes because the earlier appointment was not finished.

"Wow, your grades are pretty good".

I decline to mention that I have skipped all my classes today. And the day before.

The TA interviewers decline to mention that I answered one of their last questions wrongly. Not until I ask them after the interview, to which they side-eye each other for a period of time that would definitely be a horrible TTFB before reluctantly telling me with the same vibe that you get when someone breaks the news that you got fired. Vibes were off.

Another interview, Jane Street. My mind was racing and yet doing absolutely nothing productive. I was saying words, progress was moving disappointingly slowly yet as fast as I could will it. I think I got rejected within 10 minutes but the interviewer was being nice. I think. I have no idea. We didn’t even have enough time to finish the problem. I did not know what cache eviction actually meant. Maybe I should’ve prepared. Could I have prepared? Could I have prepared with my mental state like

It’s dark. 2AM. I’m on my bed, paranoid. I am paranoid of going insane like my roommate did last year. It was dark. I hear him crying, on a call with his mom. Please make it stop. Please make it stop. I want to die. What is wrong with me. The silhouette of his dark frame on the other side of the room, shaking uncontrollably. Math prodigy. Paralyzed by his demons. I pretend to be asleep, but my heart’s pounding. Echoes in my head, echoes through the walls. Haunts me in my very dreams. Am I okay? Fear. Dread. Compulsion to make a call that’s downright useless. Palms sweaty, The knot in my throat gets tighter. Heart pounding. Heart pounding. Sanity has left -

The days are colder, I’ve been spending my time worried about the future, anxious about the present, reminiscent of the past. My 19th birthday probably marked the delimiter between sanity and mental instability. I remember feeling so nauseous that day, and all the days around it. I remember ignoring work responsibilities, binging youtube and anime, just so I wouldn’t feel the compulsive urge to make that socially uncomfortable call. Maybe that was why I didn’t get a return offer. Maybe that was why…

I don’t understand why my brain really wants me to make that call, as with all the other socially uncomfortable urges and impulses. This one has stuck, however. Stuck like nothing else has stuck. Stuck like a scab that only gets worse as you stare at it, introspect, and think about. This is why I’ve deferred writing about this for so long, because what good could possibly come out of this?

I’ve been asking myself why. Why do I need to make that call? My brain is silent. But the urge, despite how irrational and inconveniencing and self-destructive it knows itself to be, returns when my mind goes quiet.

It’s been getting better. But ever so slowly. I used to walk up the 7 flights of stairs to my room with a fresh dose of nausea and anxiety because I knew my phone was in there. I used to leave my room feeling the same way. I used to be incapable of focusing on anything for more than 30 minutes because the thoughts would come back. I used to sweat so much while doing psets that all the papers would end up crinkly. I used to not be able to have deep thoughts because that would always be a re-trigger for a bad time. I used to -

I used to be fine. I used to not think about these things. I used to have one goal, the drive to get better at coding, and nothing else. I used to be good at competitive programming. I used to be good at interviews. I used to be not stressed. I used to be fine. I used to be… Christian?

That’s what my parents say. I’ve strayed from God and God has left me on my own to fend for myself in my misery. The only way to heal is to reconnect to God and to put my trust and faith in him. Fallen. Repented. Saved.

Davinci Studio has this nice auto-save feature, even though it also shows an unsaved file indicator in case you want to save it manually yourself. Deception that makes you feel good. Have I told you that I got into video editing? No? I haven’t told anyone anything these days. Ever since my Miku video blew up, I’ve been thinking that maybe I have a chance at this kind of stuff. Maybe video editing is my thing. I’ve noticed that I could get into a similar flow state during video edits as I did with coding. The only problem is that it feels dumb. It feels non-intellectual. It feels like you’re just clicking buttons, making things look nice visually, and that feels disappointing. Like I’m not living up to what I could be.

What could I be? What could this post be other than a very long list of gripes I’ve had with myself for the past few months? What could my semester have been other than an answer of “absolutely terrible” to the question of “how are you?” To say “this too shall pass” is not a statement of consolation. It might take months, it might take years. (dear god I hope not) That’s time that I don’t want to lose on a problem that no one can see or feel or suffer through. Except for me.