So this is the new year / I don't feel any different

Current mood:distressed

I tried. I really, really did. I thought, "To hell with history and defense mechanisms; let's try a new approach." It wasn't truly a new approach; it was actually an old approach that had never achieved the intended results. So I really did try. I'm not in the habit of trying because I'm in the habit of failing. Failure is much easier to handle if you didn't try at the thing in the first. You dismiss the disappointment as trivial. After all, if it wasn't even important enough to put real effort into, it must not matter. Plus it's not really rejection if you weren't accurately represented. I'm here referring to the med school rejection notes I've been receiving. One is an exception (Mayo—I didn't even get to send in a secondary; I'll still be fine). Two is a coincidence (Stanford—the different schools probably have different admission standards; I should be fine). Three is a trend (Dartmouth—If I can't get an interview at Dartmouth, there's no way I'm getting one with Harvard, Hopkins, or Yale; fuck). Fuck (fuck—fuck; fuck). I should have seen the signs. I should have consulted history. I don't win. Never have. Elections, girls, scholarships, sports—I'm just not all that successful. I'm Peyton Manning. I look good on paper. I have some successes. But I haven't figured out how to win the big game (get accepted to the big school, win the big election, get a big scholarship, get a date or two with the beautiful girl). And I don't think it's that he or I can't win the big game; I don't think that we're psychologically incapable of such a thing, or that we're defeatists, or that we're any less the guys we are just because we're not publicly hailed. I don't know where it goes wrong. I guess I'm just sore because I laid it all out there and got burned badly, though that's not the reason my hand is bleeding. My hand is bleeding because all this upset me so much that I punched the wall hard on my way to my bedroom, which is where I am now, almost as shaken and teary as I was when Brandon Moor died. And I'm not sure which is scarier, my mortality (which is what I came to terms with January 31, 2005) or my failure to be acknowledged. I just feel like I get skipped over time and again, which would normally be OK but it sure isn't when I'm actually trying. Or do they not know that I'm trying? I guess they don't have anything to compare it to. They didn't have the benefit of seeing how I normally conduct myself; how are they to know this is anything special? Still, where did I go wrong? What about me is so unattractive or uninteresting? What makes me "eww, gross" or "ehh, whatever?" I have the grades, the test scores, the humanitarian service, the experience abroad, the wit and wisdom. Would I be noticed if I was from Kazakhstan, or if I was less self-effacing (which shouldn't be confused with a lack of confidence)? I'm not looking for the whole world to love me, just legitimization from certain individuals and institutions that I admire myself. It's not that I mind failing. I'm just tired of it. I'd take any small victory at this point. Beyond mountains, there are mountains. This I know. I just would like to come to a summit that matters every now and then. I'll be fine tomorrow.