burning

i am past the stage of blaming myself and have moved on to the much more productive and satisfying stage of blaming others instead.
it is an interesting feeling, an invisible flame furrowing my brow, narrowing my gaze, clenching my teeth, speeding my movements.
when i encounter something displeasing, i can feel it flare, shoot off my skin, fan around me thickly like a black cloud.
there is nothing wrong with me. no, it is just everyone else, and they all need to get the fuck out of my way.
they are slow and inept and, even worse, blind to how right i am. they can't do things the way i want them to, and their ineptitude has made them useless burdens.
i shall throw them all out to sea and watch them float away.

i think somewhere in between 12 AM and now, i felt my soul die. like a candle flame blowing out.

Epiphany

I've had terrible luck with men ever since I started medical school (honestly, perhaps I've had it ever since I first started showing interest in the opposite sex, but for the sake of this entry I'm going to cut the self-pity short).

Naturally, I started blaming myself.
I was too needy.
I was too aloof.
I was too stupid.
I was too smart.
I was always there.
I never had time for him.
I mean, I must have been doing something. There were so many things I could have done wrong. But what?

After long year of observation, both first and second-hand, I began to realize that it really had nothing to do with me at all. With the men I was choosing, there was nothing I could possibly do that would be "right" for them, short of actually morphing myself into a textbook. Or a study guide. Or a library.

Allow me to generalize, for the sake of brevity:

Women are multitaskers. We can juggle school and relationships simultaneously. We can dedicate our hearts and minds to becoming the best physicians we can be, and still have room for unconditional love and support for someone that we truly care about, outside of school. Our lovers and our careers rotate in separate spheres, sometimes coming together symbiotically, sometimes clashing. But we will always try our best to make sure they keep spinning.

Men do not see things this way. They can only focus on one thing at a time. On the one hand, this means that it is nigh impossible for most of them to even consider making time for someone else in their lives, except perhaps on the weekends, or on days when there aren't too many meetings, and there isn't a quiz or exam on the horizon, and there aren't as many lectures to catch up on as usual. On the other hand, I will give most of them credit for being smart enough to realize that a relationship is not something to be half-assed, something that can be put off for the weekends. It is a day-to-day commitment, much like a job or med school work. And for these driven, brilliant men that I tend to fall for, it simply isn't possible to commit one's heart and mind fully to school and fully to another person at the same time.

When it comes down to me vs. med school, med school will always win. I am drawn to the difficult ones. The ones whose pasts are clouded, who had made up their minds before we'd even met to mark me down as something dangerous and pointless to waste effort upon.

I will close this post and say that I've given up on any man here that I've ever found interesting, because the only thing I can count on them to do is not to make any time for me.

Summer loves

This is to help me remember what 8 hours of daylight was like.

Also, I like lists.

1. sunning near a cool body of water

2. sun-dried, sea-washed skin

3. gin and sparkling wine

4. raw vegetables

5. sleeping alone, with all the lights off, without blankets

6. bathing suits hung up to dry against white tile

7. frosty glasses on the kitchen table

8. dozing off with the fan on

9. the first cool breeze of nightfall

10. giving myself up to doing absolutely nothing

Calm before the storm.

Last year, I walked in with nothing.

I had no idea of what to expect, so how was I to properly arm myself?

I nearly drowned under piles and piles of papers and books that never could seem to properly fit in one pack, or at least stay where I could see them. I lived in a tiny shoebox of a room – its size unable to contain my belongings and my lack of motivation to keep order – in a madhouse of seven total med student occupants. I can still see myself sitting at the kitchen table (the kitchen was about 8 times the size of my room, so I favored it) in those very quiet, sad hours after midnight, eating ice cream and wondering what the hell I was doing with myself. I became so caught up in giving up pieces of myself, playing the oft-praised role of the martyred medical student, that lost sight of who I was and what I deserved from life and the people around me. I was constantly beset by storms – from the many un-done things on my To-Do lists, from the people I gave to that couldn’t give back, from books and notes I slaved over with words that just refused to stick. As luck would have it, it was also the longest, coldest winter the East Coast had ever seen. It seemed that the year was trying to ensure my surrender. Near the end, it had devolved into an outright battle for survival. I thought of nothing but finishing. I ate whatever was near. I wore whatever was conducive to sitting for extraordinarily long periods of time (yes, that is a euphemism for leggings and sweatpants). I pulled out the largest weapons I had, without even bothering first to glance at the size of the beast I had to slay. It didn’t matter how tired, malnourished, pale I became – I just had to finish.

I return after a summer, ready to start once again. This time, it won’t be a desperate, last-one-standing, no holds barred death match. I hope to be able to ditch the “battle” metaphor, actually. This time, I will just be…studying. Studying, going to class, practicing the skills I’m learning. I will be a medical student, not nervous, confused, overwhelmed, and constantly doubting my ability to become the person I’ve always dreamt of becoming. I will no longer refer to myself as a "mess." I refuse to hide behind excuses, the bare minimum, the back corner table of the classroom.

I will be present.