EPTThe overload of awesome can be a terrible thing. As some are painfully aware, I cultivate an extreme dose of self-esteem and confidence. It does not show through my public facade, but it deeply influences my attitudes towards situations.
My parents were not particularly strict in my upbringing. I must attribute most of that to my own unusually disciplined personality from a very early age. They have never had to worry about my succumbing to bad habits or influences. My intrinsic manners and good insight were unshakable, and I had learned early some more typically mature traits, such as long term planning and fiscal conservation. When I went to Chuck E Cheese or Woody Woodchucks to play those token operated arcade games, I always had trouble using up all the tokens my parents bought for me. I was already familiar with the value of money and controlled spending, carefully rationing my entertainment allowance. In the end my tokens would be shared amongst the others who had since used up their own.
I should be thankful, then, that I was not subject to the rigours of the super strict parent. In fact, the reverse became true. By the later grades of elementary school, my parents started to worry about my lack of social involvement with friends. I began to resemble a loner. At the time, I acknowledged the truth behind their words, but decided I did not mind my relatively quiet lifestyle. Eventually, and today still, they began pushing me to go out to more parties, loosen up around new friends, and find myself a girlfriend. It is funny that they push me in this direction instead of the more typical youth worries.
So where does that put me right now? You’ve heard this before, maybe. I am an academic super star. I am all-around athletically beastly. My main sport is badminton (if you are snickering at that, think again). As an interesting note, to my great surprise I won the grade nine men’s physical education/gym award. I also happen to be a guitar virtuoso. As one friend once commented in admiration, “You’re pro at everything.” Bear in mind I am not such a pompous asshole in real life – I use this language mainly for comical effect.
Now I am 21. I had initially put my university and program of study here, but edited it out due to the details I wrote later on. It happens to be so exclusive that divulging this would narrow down my identity too much. It is jokingly known to other students as the “ten person per year” program. Those who have heard of it might appreciate what it means to be enrolled in it.
That brings me to my first major life failure. I have always thrived in a competitive environment. I have always been able to break through the competition and claim my just rewards. Many of my peers in the accounting stream were able to land jobs at the big four accounting firms. That I was not able to land such a position was perplexing and a big blow to me. I did not, and still do not, understand what kind of demented selection criteria they use. I had to settle for another CA firm. What mattered to me was pay, prestige and work experience. Other top-tier qualified candidates I knew shared my predicament, but at least were able to get mid-size firms. I was in the end shafted to a small CA firm out of town and not what I wanted.
In the beginning, I thought it wouldn’t be too big of a deal. Since I was desperate at that point to get a job, I agreed to my last available offer, without asking about my salary. This was not a mistake on my part since I had no other choice, but was heavily disappointed when I found my salary was practically half of what some of my peers were making. That’s ok... it’s just a temporary eight month co-op term anyways, right? It would be over soon.
But as the days continued to pass, I was more and more disconnected. Everyone at this small firm was over 30. Not really a big deal, except it just compounded my own inability for small talk with this generation divide, for I was not accustomed to befriending this demographic. As these problems grew on my mind, I resented my job more and more. I can not fault my co-workers for this, however – I take credit for my shortcomings that make my own life miserable. After perhaps the first month or so, I deeply despised where I was headed each morning.
I became extremely depressed at this point, moreso than at any other time in my life. Then the problem of my lack of friends came back to haunt me. I did not really have close ties to high school friends at home. Those that were close to me had moved farther away to make meeting inconvenient. Any that were still around did not seem to go out much, or if they did, never invited me along. My newer friends I had made at university were scattered around the area, but none within a convenient proximity for a casual chat. I felt absolutely alone and left out.
But something else must have been troubling me. Even when we did sometimes meet up for a party or gathering, I go, but at the end of the night I feel little different from before. Was it not the lack of social interaction that was bothering me? Then it must have been something else weighing on my mind. Here I decided that I had to resolve my inconclusive attraction to this girl. I had nothing more to lose. The story is in these posts:
Almost Nearly Gone
Subway Drains
Burying the Fantasy
The conclusion of that was no further relationship. I guess I never wrote exactly what I said. After the subway event, I told her on the phone, “I really meant what I said on Tuesday night. These past couple of months at co-op have been really hard on me. And throughout, I was always thinking of you. Whatever you might want to say, I just wanted to say this and go on with no regrets.” (sort of a grammar-edited, romanticized version, but I hope it came out somewhat resembling this).
So she declined. I thought that would be the end of that and my depression would subside. That at least another kind of heart-ache pain would replace my restless isolation problem. But strangely, not much was different at all. I still think of her more than I should, and am as frustrated as ever. I am confused with what I want. Lately, I’ve been daydreaming about the solution I have prepared, that is, jumping off a freeway overpass precisely aimed in the path of an oncoming truck. The impact would occur while I am still midair and cause an instant end. I would prefer the more stylistic and considerate method described in Snow Angel to avoid the resultant driver shock and traffic jam, but it is summer and I live in the city.
It is ironic that I chose to take the plunge by confessing my feelings to alleviate my depression. Instead, it has the unanticipated effect of truly dispatching any remaining hesitation and regrets. Now I am ready to exit without the uncertainty of this open issue.
There has been, however, an additional incentive. Many people would see this writing as the sign of an attention whore. I admit, that’s probably exactly what it is. I have been ignored for too long and it’s time to make myself known through tragedy. How pathetic, then, that if I do die like that, no one would probably find out for months. This has also been a persistent question in my mind: if I die, when will this person I value find out, and how would they take the news? I am convinced of the sad truth that aside from immediate family, those that I think of most would not know for a considerable time. I am simply never part of the loop, never part of the party, eternally the awkward outsider. Then that would make my death simply a waste. You can accuse me of being screwed up and perverted, but that is my detached nature to be objective.
I look in the mirror. I see a fine male specimen any girl with good taste would fantasize about. The problem: no one knows I exist. No one knows how secretly awesome I am. Actually, some people do realize I am awesome – the true problem is that for me to become attracted to a partner, I must warm up considerably from a very cool start. It takes a while, and the time is running out. I have experienced the taste of life after school, in the workforce. Opportunities in school will be ending soon, and the world afterwards is bleak. I worry for my future.
Well, my work term ended at the end of July. Accounting is boring and I am currently studying to write MCAT at the end of the month. Then I start school again in September. The feelings of depression are still with me. I harbour a deep jealousy knowing that others are enjoying their life more, that I play no role in it. Work, work, work... is that all there is for me? I don’t even want to become a doctor. I don’t care much about healing patients – in fact, in my world, the sick would be left to perish. I only pursue this path because it makes good, stable money and because I can.
Despite my personal malcontent with accounting, my employers rated me highly in work performance evaluation. All their comments were very good. I was able to leave a rather positive impression on them. I never knew I was that good at acting, but I had only considered it a professional responsibility. I guess, once again, because I can.
I sit in my room and wither the time away. My youth, so far, has been wasting away, and won’t be coming back. I am not sure how much I enjoy the time I spend in the company of friends, yet I feel left out of everything they enjoy on their own free time. I sit in my room and grow restless. My awesome is wasted in the confines of my room. What the hell do I want?
