I think that the worst part about the way I feel right now is that I have nothing to say about it that isn’t hideously banal. These emotions aren’t even in the same league as the ones that I, myself, dealt with over a decade ago. Certainly, I am experiencing suicidal thoughts, but when have I not? Frankly, surviving my 20s was a miraculous feat. It was then that I was making plans for my death to look like an accident. Today’s feelings of emptiness are relatively benign.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if a steady beat of low-level depression might not be able to beat me into submission. Earlier today I was quietly devastated that I was unfollowed by some people on twitter. I haven’t even used twitter in days, because it was too painful to scream out into the twitterverse and not receive an answer.

Perhaps it’s my vanity that is causing the problem. What does it say that my primary hesitance to publish this is due to it being poorly written? Would it be the worst thing in the world if someone were to read this and have some notes on diction? The other day, I commented on Videogum with a joke to the effect that a typo had robbed me of the new associate editor’s love, and it was absurdly painful to me when she joked back that my typo had done so. There is no logic in that, so don’t bother looking for it.

The next two weeks will be dedicated to preparing for the MCAT, and after that, my time will be devoted to medical school applications. There is a pretty decent chance that I will bring harm to myself if I fail at either. It isn’t because I lack perspective. I know that these things are pretty unimportant. The reason I would hurt myself is because I have convinced myself that my success in these goals might be what gets someone to finally love me.

I am a sad joke.