My struggle
I'm writing this blog for two reasons. The first is that talking about this gives me an outlet through which I can express my feelings. The other reason is for my potential employers. I'm the type of guy that wants to be upfront and honest about everything, but I don't feel I can do that without sharing my story. Simply put, if you can't accept me at my lowest, then you don't deserve me at my greatest.
That being said, let's dive down another rabbit hole and see what we can dig up. I hope you come to enjoy this journey with me.
This is my second time coming out of a psych ward, hoping that they got my medication right. It's one of those things that makes you appreciate all the little things in life, like a cup of coffee or seeing trees from somewhere other than a cage.
My last unit was called Unit 6. It seemed like there was never any peace in there. Whether it was a screaming match or a patient throwing a chair through the nurses' station window, it was always something. Even being able to tie my shoes is something you begin to miss, but for me personally, the hardest part was not being able to share my ideas with other people.
I find myself hyperfixated with quantum computing. Every other thing I doodle out or write relates back to something grounded in quantum mechanics, but finding someone else that can hold a conversation with me on it is difficult at best.
The fact that I made it through this last semester of college is a miracle all on it's own. It's hard to think of the last time I've had a break aside from the wards (if you would call that a break). The only thing that truly held me together was my thoughts, but I also feel they're slowly destroying me. My mind is always racing. I can't stop thinking or hyperfixating. It's hard for me to understand my passion for computer science to be a hobby, a job, or a crutch.
But it wasn't all bad. In my first ward I met a man named Doug that I could converse my ideas with. It was refreshing to pick at a brain other than mine that was rapid-firing ideas 24/7. I'll come to talk about Doug later in this blog, but first I want to talk about mental health.
Aristotle once said that "no great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness," which seems to suggest that whatever is going on with me is a trade. Maybe it suggests that this is normal, that when you dive deep enough into a topic you'll find yourself in the rabbit hole.
Try to imagine looking at a stranger in the mirror that mimicks everything you do. Imagine he has your face and he's wearing your clothes. Try even to imagine that you've never met this person in your life. I feel like that sometimes. It reminds me of quantum superposition, where I both am myself and not at the same time, and it's not until I observe it that it chooses a state. It's fitting that the chemistry definition of dissociate is to split into separate smaller atoms, ions, or molecules, especially reversibly, where reversibility is key to quantum dynamics.
I discuss in My Thoughts on the Universe the concept of quantum superposition. I understand that dissociation is far from superposition, but the analogy holds that sometimes I don't feel like myself. Dr. Lin once told me that intelligent people are the ones who suffer the most, but what more do I have to give than my very identity? It worries me, and it makes me feel uneasy.
Now let me tell you some things about Doug.
I met Doug at Valle Vista back in late April. He was a 60-year-old man who was the first person I had ever talked to that could hold a strong, intelligible conversation about quantum mechanics and other topics. I was happy because I didn't feel so lonely. We talked for hours while I was there, and I later found through him that my beliefs on quantum entanglement corresponded with string theory (something I had not yet studied).
He talked to me about the higher levels of dimensionality and I discussed the Curse of Dimensionality with him, which is a visualization barrier in world of data mining and data analytics. We discussed what we knew about astrology and surface tension, and we shared our metaphysical beliefs which were surprisingly similar.
It wasn't until he got discharged that I realized how lonely it was to know these things. Wanting to share it with other people and not being able to is frustrating and even sometimes humiliating. That's why I call it a curse. I'm cursed to know things that I can't fluently share with others, and it mocks me.
With time I hope to surround myself with people who care about these topics just as much as I do.