You Make My Dopamine Levels Silly

I wanted to be a doctor since I was 9 years old. My first love. My soul, my every breath. But as all young lovers do, I lost track.  Somehow I created this fictitious idea of what it meant to be a doctor.  Helping people, saving lives, dedicating every minute to some greater purpose. I put everything on a pedestal. But I've grown up now and our paths have parted.  Things were going great until these last 2 years.  But once it began, it couldn't be stopped. The past few months have been agonizing and my heart has been broken.  Everything has changed - my outlook, my beliefs.  This whole doctor infatuation I've nestled myself into has been based on bullshit, pure fucking bullshit.  I'm confessing, I won't hide it anymore.  And I don't give a shit what anyone else wants to argue, but it's the goddamn truth.  I'm here now and I know what it is I'm talking about.  Being a PreMed student is possibly one of the most God awful things in the world.  The professors, the atmosphere, the weeding out, the unrealistic expectations. 

I've been looking for a way out for some time now, looking left and right at all the other options.  And now that our relationship is over, I can freely glance and flirt without the burn of guilt.  No more secrets, no more lonely nights, no more tears, no more fake happiness or false hope. No more lies.  

It's taken a lot to stop denying the inevitable end and finally bear these words, to end it before it consumed me.  A decade of my life feels lost.  And I've only started to break it to my family. God it kills me to see them squint in disappointment, I can't stand the disappointment.  Don't look at me with those eyes of judgement, for one day, I swear this flower will blossom.  I whisper it like a lullaby.

I'm not ready for new love yet, but I will be.  I'm going to figure out what it is I want to do with myself, I promise.  I want to get over my first love, my biggest heartbreak, and move on.  See the rainbow after the storm.  I just want to heal now, go a single day without grieving.  

No more writing about it. No more moping or hiding away.  That's it, I'm done with this chapter.  The end.

It's My Own Cheating Heart that Makes Me Cry

It began in May.  And pretty soon, I lost myself completely. I thought I knew who I was, what I stood for - pride and reputation.  I told myself that I would do everything to make the right decisions the first time around. And in just these past few months, it all went to shit.  I lost it all, everything.  Goddamn I feel so low and worthless.  I went halfway across the country and planted roots about this wonderful future I had planned out.  It's not easy, but I manage, I told everyone.  But they have no fucking clue that a part of me has already given up on myself.  I've felt the kiss of death and taken my walk of shame - in secret and silence.  

I am ashamed of this woman I've become, this little girl who runs away.  I cheated on my future, I cheated on myself.  I let myself down in a way I never thought possible.  Today I own up to my faults, no more lies lies lies.  I want to get back on the path I was on since I was 7 years old.  Rebuild what I have lost. But it's too late now, and a big part of me doesn't want to look back. I've made my decision and I'm not taking it back.  I accept it.  At least now I have this angel on my shoulder and a smile on my face.  

The day will come when I'll have to pay my debts.  But today I close my eyes and try to escape...

Caged Birds Accept Each Other But Flight is What They Long For

So much has changed over these past few months.  I've fallen to my knees, thrown in the towel and cried for mercy.  I've met people and I have stories to tell.  For a while now, I want to write a new blog, to pour my heart out. But instead, I end up staring at this empty box, silent.  It's been this way for over three months. It's as though I'm ashamed, that I can't afford to admit that I've been wrong all along.  And typing these words would only make my heart hurt more.  I can't put three sentences together, and for the few people that care to read my blog, I apologize.

So let's rewind and work backwards.  What the fuck has happened? 

May:

It's the end of the school year and time for finals. I take some time off work, put everything on my credit card and study. And study and study and study. I get my grades back and it's appalling - a fucking mess.  I wish I could say that I forgot to study, that I went out to party.  Among a world of C's, I find out that I made a 58 in my cell biology class and it shatters me. For some unknown reason, the professor passes me with a C-, but the damage has been done.  I am so so ashamed.  I can't bear to tell my parents or friends or classmates.   I won't let myself look at my GPA anymore.  This must be the worst semester of my academic career.

April - June:

I work my ass off for this biology internship at UT Southwestern, "one of the best".  If I want to be a doctor, this is the only way.  I have to prove myself in the lab before anyone let's me into a hospital. I tell myself that this is the right thing to do, the path to follow. And so it begins. I go through the Board of Trustees at SMU, administrations department at UT Southwestern, and the new US legislation laws against unpaid internships.  I struggle for 3 months to get all the paperwork through so I can work 8+ hours a day, 5 days a week, with no pay.  Hell I have to pay them $5 every day for parking. I thought that I would love it, that I would have a great time.  I thought I would make new friends and find new inspiration in my life.  I thought it would make my resume shine.  But now I'm here, and I know I've made a huge mistake.  I can feel it in my bones.  I can't fucking do this, this isn't for me.  I keep telling myself it's OK, that this is the way of life and growing up. Maybe I don't know what I want to do for the rest of my life yet, but I know what I don't want to do. I keep repeating it over and over.  But this doesn't bring my conscious to rest. I'm so fucking lost lost lost.  I don't just need a Plan B anymore, I need a Plan A.  Everything I've wanted these past 10 years is bullshit.  I don't want it anymore, I made a huge mistake.  No more med school or grad school or working in a lab.  No more security in how my future will turn out. I'm back to the beginning, square one.  Now what?  

One Day I'm a Lion, the Next Day I'm a Mouse

Original Guilt, that's what they should call it.

The reason why we give to charity is a hushed little secret.  When it's a young cashier at the local grocery store, white and pretty, someone we can relate to, it's easy to give.  But when we see someone under the highway, begging for coins, not so much.  It's so easy to look down, to look away.  They, "the other," aren't responsible enough to spend their money correctly, I'm sure.  We need a whole agency to make these decisions for them.  Who cares if this defeats the purpose of charity altogether.

Sometimes I think that if guilt never existed, neither would mankind.  If there were no consequences, if there was no little rule book - a Bible, a Qur'an.  What started this all?

I don't get the ending, I don't get the means.  Why not cut the middle man? Why not give directly to the poor?

I ponder this now as I am asked to collect money for my fellow students.  Money for more scholarships and a "better school," I'm told.  I'm one of the students receiving these very scholarships, but every time I pass by, I feel a tinge of guilt for not giving.  I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my scholarships.  I feel so low and inferior to everyone around me, so low and inferior.

Romulus and Remus

My family and I comprise a first generation immigrant household.  It’s hard to sum up every adversity we’ve faced in this neat little box. Money is tight, to say the least, and too often it’s a day-to-day struggle.  My first job was at the local pizza store my parents opened when I was nine.  Since then, my father has left us and come back again, and I’ve worked half a dozen other jobs to help make ends meet.  When I last met with my academic adviser, she scolded me as to why my grades were lower than they should be.  “Isn’t school more important than petty cash in your pocket?” she asked. I work two jobs, over 40 hours a week.  There is no cash in my pocket but at least there is food on the table and a roof over our heads. 

I was born into a family of pride, of honor.  My father was a professor, my mother a nurse.  My mother wore a dress on her wedding day with white grace and pure glory.  My sister and I were born “in the war years,” when the Soviet began to crumble and neighboring countries found weakness in our borders and luck in their endeavors.  These are the stories I was told. But we were well to do – there was always food on the table.  Fast forward.  Reach away like the limbs of an old, wise tree 20 years.  We have begun to regain strength in our stance. Third time is a charm, the story of our lives.  We have crawled through the storms. Through mud and fire and apocalypse.  I had my first white hair at 16.  I didn’t grow as tall as my mother.  My teeth as crooked as our paths, so many details not worth mentioning. No one knows, I won’t grant anyone the pleasure.  Not even here will I risk it.