From the pentip of a burnt out, praise-seeking Health Sci
As I write this, I consider the very grounds upon which I arrived into this program. I had never before been bad at anything – but my reflections helped me to realise that these grades brought along a sense of camaraderie and offered me a profoundly humbling metaphor for my place in this world [excerpt from: 2022 ESR].
But now, here I am, sitting in the back row of my anatomy lecture, unwillingly drowning out the prof with dark thoughts of incurable dread. It is not you, my Dear Reflection Journal, who is protecting my sanity now. It is with great melancholy that I beg for your forgiveness, for I have squandered every last penny of my grocery and rent money on a terrible vice. It is with shame (but no regret), that I have voluntarily given my life savings to the New York Times Games subscription.
I feel that I am beyond aid. After that final, terrible OCAT last year, my unfulfilled longing to be praised by the authority figures in my life never fully left me, like a soul trapped in the world of the living. It has translated into a compulsive crossword dependency in times of stress. You must understand the way that the jazzy sudoku jingle gives me just enough dopamine to help me stumble my way through my stats assignment, or to roll out of bed at 9am for my weekly lecture on Dismantling Racism Through Self Care and Community.
I can’t help but lament; Reflection Journal, if you really exist, if you’re really out there, help me through my doubt. Was it truly delusion that kept me enrolled through first year? Was I believing in a false god? Reflection Journal, if you’re out there somewhere, give me a sign.
The Procrastinator 