There was this stack of about 45 neuroscience papers that I was annotating and synthesizing on/off since winter 2017, and I threw them all away. I threw away my old notebooks. I’ve thrown away my clothes, old books, everything.

Today was hard. Not because of the things I’ve thrown away but more so the realizations I’ve acquired.

It’s both liberating and terrifying to finally admit to yourself what it is that you need. I’ve seen every carnation of myself played out somewhere, I’ve heard people say their desires aloud and I saw myself in their eyes.

Maybe I’m overcompensating for my loneliness, by doing this. Maybe I’m making up for lost time. I can’t explain it, and I don’t entirely want to.

I’m scared. I’ll admit. I’m scared because I know this place is not welcoming, and I know that I will work hard to be where I want to be and that scares the shit out of me. Knowing that I will do it alone, and that I will leave this bubble I’ve placed around myself.

I threw away my phone weeks ago. I stopped listening to music. I can never listen to music the same anyway, knowing the internal chaos it produces. The noise.

Every day. All day. I’ve given up everything I thought I wanted. I discarded all things I told myself I was attached to. I’ve rid myself of all of it. The dreams of pursuing other careers, the dreams of being a mother, of marrying and having that family life. I’ve thrown it all away.

So I cried today. And I was anxious and had to go on a walk. Someone will ask me, and continue to ask, “Why did you choose this life?” and I will respond, “I’m determined. Which means I had no choice.”

And this all feels melodramatic, but what it reveals is the solitude and isolation I’m about to embark on, the path I was always afraid to take, so I clung to the wrong people. I feared being alone for so long, and perceieved myself as such for so long… that I let the idea devour me, and I fought hard against it. God knows I fought it. But I’ve truly given up on it, and I’m embracing reality.

This is it for me. My mind is clearing and I’m tracing the trajectory that was cosmically laid in front of me. I’m not happy about it. It’s not about what makes me happy. Happiness isn’t something God has gifted me with. I’ll never be happy, and it’s about damn time I stop pursuing it.

You want to be great? You want immortality? There’s a fucking price.

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