College. It is hopeless. College destroyed my mental health. My resting pulse rate was 71 before I went there. 3 years afterwards it is about 100-113. I have now so many psychosomatic issues. I was aware that working will never be feasible. But people told me miracles can happen. Instead it fucked me up so hard. Ironically I found a for new passive income which might be enough to survive. But I cannot get my health back. I don't have any responsiblities since April and my resting puls and all the psychosomatic issues won't go away.
My real reason to go to college was to find a significant other. Now after like 1000 love delusion I am on the edge of suicide. I cannot take it much longer. I went to this self-help group as a way to reach out. I had one severe love delusion that led me to order SN. Then a woman there was actually interested in me and literally told me that. And I fucked it up completely within 1 week. She now gives me a second chance. I take benzos to cope with the pressure. I think if she rejects me again it is over. I cannot cope with more rejections. Interestingly, I would now feel better if I was daydreaming at home lonely, craving to meet someone. But coming close to someone, experience that magic and then it is taken from you. Holy shit. That's torture. A torture I won't survive. Tbh I even consider an escort if she rejects me. I think I might kill myself in April. And I want to feel that magic again.
"It's not that students don't "get" Kafka's humor but that we've taught them to see humor as something you get -- the same way we've taught them that a self is something you just have. No wonder they cannot appreciate the really central Kafka joke -- that the horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self whose humanity is inseparable from that horrific struggle. That our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home. It's hard to put into words up at the blackboard, believe me. You can tell them that maybe it's good they don't "get" Kafka. You can ask them to imagine his art as a kind of door. To envision us readers coming up and pounding on this door, pounding and pounding, not just wanting admission but needing it, we don't know what it is but we can feel it, this total desperation to enter, pounding and pushing and kicking, etc. That, finally, the door opens...and it opens outward: we've been inside what we wanted all along. Das ist komisch."
― David Foster Wallace,
My real reason to go to college was to find a significant other. Now after like 1000 love delusion I am on the edge of suicide. I cannot take it much longer. I went to this self-help group as a way to reach out. I had one severe love delusion that led me to order SN. Then a woman there was actually interested in me and literally told me that. And I fucked it up completely within 1 week. She now gives me a second chance. I take benzos to cope with the pressure. I think if she rejects me again it is over. I cannot cope with more rejections. Interestingly, I would now feel better if I was daydreaming at home lonely, craving to meet someone. But coming close to someone, experience that magic and then it is taken from you. Holy shit. That's torture. A torture I won't survive. Tbh I even consider an escort if she rejects me. I think I might kill myself in April. And I want to feel that magic again.
"It's not that students don't "get" Kafka's humor but that we've taught them to see humor as something you get -- the same way we've taught them that a self is something you just have. No wonder they cannot appreciate the really central Kafka joke -- that the horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self whose humanity is inseparable from that horrific struggle. That our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home. It's hard to put into words up at the blackboard, believe me. You can tell them that maybe it's good they don't "get" Kafka. You can ask them to imagine his art as a kind of door. To envision us readers coming up and pounding on this door, pounding and pounding, not just wanting admission but needing it, we don't know what it is but we can feel it, this total desperation to enter, pounding and pushing and kicking, etc. That, finally, the door opens...and it opens outward: we've been inside what we wanted all along. Das ist komisch."
― David Foster Wallace,
