In my first year of college, I recall a professor telling us that we are smart, but that the downside is that we are more likely to commit suicide.
This scared me, for obvious reasons. But also, for less obvious reasons, like the fact that I had previously seen a pscychiatrist but it didn’t work out so I gave up on trying to seek medical help regarding my mental health.
Maybe I’m not the most scientific person to talk about this, since I still can’t grasp how energy exists in the bond between atoms, but I do have my personal experiences.
Ever since I was a child, I had a lot of trouble talking, relating, and basically communicating with people especially the ones I didn’t know very well. This anxiety has been with me for as long as I can remember, maybe not as damaging as recently, but it was there. The depression, in the meanwhile, arrived later in life.
Anyway, during the same time that I was terrified of standing up because I thought I would start shaking so people would stare at me which would worsen the shaking–during that time, I was also an academic achiever. I would get medals every year and certificates and got to be one of the top people in my grade.
As time went on though, I stopped getting medals. I joined less contests. It didn’t matter to me, though.
I didn’t want to go to school. I tried to pretend to be sick every morning, because staring at the wall for eight hours was better than going to school. Anything was better than school.
So many things happened that I barely remember. My brain doesn’t want me to remember. I remember glimpses, but in them, I was numb out of defense. My body was protecting itself from extreme distress.
Yet it doesn’t come without consequences. To this day, almost a decade after, the feeling remains. Or, feelings.
I also have to go through wanting to be superior all the time. I want to be the best, the smartest, the most efficient. I can’t though and I haven’t been for a long time.
I’m working on that.