[continuing from memoir piece 5]
I decided not to screenwrite that scene about telling the pretty person that she’s got some ego problems because I’ve wasted a lot of time on writing that I’ll look back on later and say sounds “younger,” and I won’t have gotten paid for it and if it’s not going to get made as a movie then it probably just sits there as a regret and makes me feel worse. Anyway, who knows what it would be like to actually love — like be in love with — someone more powerful who is more powerful not just perceived as such, who knows you well too: that’s why those relationships don’t happen often except secretly, and for me they’re something I can steer clear of without handling it so emotionally, the steering clear part. I can still have relationships with more-powerful people not romantic ones: mentorship can be a lovely, positive thing in my experience, with the occasional very awkward moments that are forgiven quickly.
**bridge into next scene [put something here]
There was an incident at my school in November 2021, around the time I was my most incelesque and abusive in comments sections, facing toward celebrities I’m envious of — who I realize only when sitting across from a doctor in a submissive position myself, do not have it easier. I claimed earlier that some people might be “posthumans” and that causes me apprehension as someone whose mental health might want to lead me to become a writer only appreciated “posthumously,” but the truth of the matter is — that might not be all bad, I think there are good people overseeing technological progress, stuff like chips in people’s brains which to me sounds Dystopian — the more I say that about me the more-redundant it seems, the part about my work only being appreciated much later, and it is a fear I think. Oh well: I’d just be happy even if I were dead and people liked some of my work after I was dead. Kind of grandiose, to think it wouldn’t disappear: why are you reading this if it’s just to tell me I’m grandiose though. That’s weird.
As bland as it sounds a person’s least appealing redundancies are often what completely defines that person and determines who is an ally or not; the ones who get it and can not excuse it but still do get it are the ones who you can, hopefully with time if there’s something worthwhile-about-this, come to trust.
On trust. Probs couldn’t hurt to say a few words, on trust. I don’t think having trust in one’s life has to be a fantasy; this is an opinion but I do think the value of it was significantly diminished when Trump was in power and his American dream narrative took us all by storm, there was no looking away from it, for instance a detail I couldn’t forget about how he taught his boys from childhood do not ever trust anyone, least of all him their father, and these kinds of stories fascinated many of us: just like really damn wtf.
How the f*** did he become president, just saying the stuff he kept saying out loud, with no political experience, even if he wasn’t quite a rags-to-riches trajectory and there are plenty of ways to counterargue that he’s the American dream: he did somehow become president. He’s a man, I’d caution myself from automatically saying, “he’s right!!!” when reviewing articles about how Trump is a non-trusting person and himself a scapegoat when everyone who knows shit knows to *please son..* be street smart in business; he also says to “hire the best people and do not trust them,” but seems like he only hired yes-men and that contradicts his own compelling, intoxicating sells on just how to be a smart and sometimes cunning leader. I think a lot of people liked him, and so I try not to judge people being evil. Oh no, I meant to say I try not to judge people just being people. I’d argue that Obama who was seriously despised in and after his time as president had that kind American dream narrative on his side, to explain some of his appeal to We-the-People proper, but that is not what defines leadership and it’s also not what necessarily gets written in actual history. I am not sure what does; I am impressed though by how sacred a thing the Truth came to seem only after I lost my mind, because I think untruths piled on and on to a narrative about me or what I truly believed in, what I was fighting for on this earth, that couldn’t hold up were what caused me to break eventually: under pressure, crack. The perform storm had been set up.
I also get tired of myself going off on tangents like in that whole paragraph; I never am the one at the table talking politics, let alone getting up and storming off about them.
Slowly and surely I’ve found my way back into wanting to be a doctor and writer both and that is how-or-why I wrote this book throughout my Postbac Premed program: I suppose in the process undermining my own performance, only to come to terms with how it should and will matter. How my life might matter even though it’s not obvious yet how. At my hearing with the Columbia committee that decides your fate [this was all very intense] I pretty much “took the L”; and after that, still adjusting meds, I had another psychotic break because it was so stressful and I hadn’t slept and all the kindling was there for another small episode: I thought that everyone I’d sought out advice from was colluding against me. I also at that whole time of my life kept-thinking people were sending killers after me — particularly at that moment I emailed literally every single dean in my program about a security threat on campus, and literally told my dean, technically a mentor, James Colgrove [who I haven’t spoken to since except for a couple times: to admit I was mortified after-the-following and then for the hearing] that I’d identified pedophilia among people in Hollywood. This is the example I’ll give of picking battles way beyond my reach. My sister was on that Zoom call too. (See, people were there for me.) This in italics was either a white lie — no I hadn’t; god knows I don’t want to make my life’s work to take down shitty people… in Hollywood — or it was just a god-awfully awkward moment for anyone who wasn’t an enemy to witness [and sometimes I’m not sure about my sister: are you an enemy, Lex!], because, it didn’t make sense and it was clear I was having a weird time, I could hardly see straight, but it’s getting better. My balance, my brain’s balance. Either way my dean didn’t seem too ruffled — he was just like, “if you need to take time off.” I think it made me respect him, a good person who all my premed peers liked and it made me reconsider a certain sanctity about true professionalism.