Tag: isolation

Pens and needles

The pen in my hand stares nervously at me, anxiously awaiting what I have to say. Its cap bears the words “Dr. Me,” beautifully engraved in the most elegant of font-faces, and is emblematic of the love and excitement in the heart of the woman who painstakingly created it for me on the day I successfully defended my thesis. This pen, as did everything else in this room, watched aghast as I coolly shooed her away, declaring that I don’t care about anything in this world… including her. The most unfortunate thing here is that in a state such as mine, nothing really does matter; even if a part of me knows that it should.

Like the drunk finding himself alone on the street in a pool of his own vomit, it often takes hitting rock bottom to realise that it’s high time you did something about your life.

And last morn, I finally did.

I worked up the nerve to go and talk to a professional about what I’ve been like for the past few years, and how things have progressed to a stage far more serious than anything I can just “snap out of.” As you’re reading this, two large vials of my blood are being subjected to a battery of tests, aiming to implicate any physical issues that I might have, along-with or bolstering my psychological problems. Diabetes, kidney damage, anaemia, hormonal imbalances… all the usual suspects linked with this sort of affair are being carefully investigated.

Over the following days and weeks, through intense conversations and lab-work, I hope to have a better grasp of what I’m dealing with so I can begin to cope, and eventually, start caring again.

Perhaps then, this pen won’t be as nervous when I pick it up.

This should be a thrill

But it feels like a drill.

It’s curious how easily a habit so carefully inculcated over so many years can be broken. It’s not been very long since I last wrote wrote, you know, really expressed what’s running through my evil brain, but I’m finding it exceedingly hard to set things in motion again. Nevertheless, today’s entry aims to be a step toward a glorious return; however forced it turns out.

As you’ve undoubtedly gathered, my life has been tremendously hectic over these past weeks. The mental image that the word ‘hectic’ usually conjures up, at least in my mind, is one of a harrowed mom hurriedly flitting about town from one annoying chore to the next. In stark contrast, my experience has transpired almost entirely within the confines of a circle barely few feet in radius. My bedroom floor, covered from end to end in a systematised mess of articles, scribbled pieces of paper and books, constituted the only library I needed. My lumpy, uncomfortable bed served as good a place to lounge and write as it did to rest when I couldn’t. My unwholesome diet, comprising of little more than concentrated doses of sugar and caffeine, kept me awake and mentally alert for the many hours—and sometimes days—that my frantic schedule so desperately called for.

Nothing about environment was ideal, but every aspect served its purpose.

From dawn through dusk, as if I was even keeping track of which was which any more, my routine involved little more than opening my tired eyes and turning over until I was facing my computer screen; my hands simultaneously working their way onto the keyboard. I’d lie there and stare gracelessly, until the words began to flow.

The writing process itself impacted me rather significantly in varying ways—both positive and negative. For one, it forced me to carefully examine what I’ve been doing all along. I must admit that this greatly clarified concepts in my own mind and carried with it a sense of accomplishment. I’m now beginning to recognise fibres that I’ve threaded into the intricate tapestry of this miniscule branch of knowledge.

But it’s not all about intellectual gratification. In fact, my words so far don’t even begin to portray the whole picture.

The single most manifest aspect of this experience, at least from my point of view, was how isolating it was; even for someone with a lifestyle such as mine. Having to sit alone in a corner concentrating on serious matters for hours upon hours over many days and weeks has taken a toll on me that I didn’t know could be taken. I honestly believed that if there was one sort of stress test I could ace, it would involve being cordoned off. I wish I weren’t so wrong about these kinds of things.

Has the effort paid off? I am not sure yet; I guess, yes, barely.

I have only one bit of advice to those of you out there who’re on the fence about higher education. Ask yourself, honestly, is this what you really want to be doing with your life? Or, in the case of the scrawny, lonely geeks, is the outside world really giving you that much grief?

If you answered ‘no’ to either of these questions, go out, enjoy.