Plans, What a Pitiful Plight

Everything was all planned; then it changed.

I cannot come to terms with my sudden change of mind. My trajectory has changed, or at least I think it has. But what a pathetic change! I condemn my change of plans as much as I condemn my self criticism. Maybe I’ll go on this way, maybe for the better.

I don’t see what all the fuss is all about. Learning wasn’t an obligation, it was a journey of great sights. And my motivation does not source from my plans, for I learned because it kept me busy. This was a dangerous move towards denial. I neglected my troubles, stuck to a plan, and kept going. And now my plan changed. What now?

I had wanted to be a surgeon. What meaningful work this would be. The labour of my hands, coupled with my knowledge, masterfully wielding the scalpel and making the most pristine incision, with every layer of tissue gently folding away, revealing the wonders of the human body. Now I don’t know. It’s not a rejection of this idea, as my mind teeters athwart. But oh, what joys there would be if I created my own tests and spread knowledge to curious souls. It pains me to see that I cannot choose both worlds. From this impossible decision my sorrows rise. They cloud over me with mockery. Maybe even fate is better.

This conflicting predilection destroys me. I cannot stand to bear this undecided, unstable foundation of my mind. This sudden change in trajectory has made me nauseous. My ego has been dashed. And maybe that’s exactly what I must get over.

The question is not who I want to be, it’s who I really am. So, who am I? This unfortunate question has been raised by the disastrous writer a few, pitiful hours ago. If it weren’t for this sudden change I would be working right now. Instead, I vent my instability, destroying every piece of my dreams. Why were they my dreams in the first place? I had never, ever considered the career of a physician, until the unfortunate day that a naïve mailman joked about cardiology. Maybe now I realize I’m drawn to it for all the wrong reasons. I had even made a comparison chart of my earnings to see who would get ahead more, the physician or the average worker. Maybe my supposed passion for this field, my searching up science papers and medical journals and reading surgical textbooks, maybe all this was not because of the power of a calling, but the accumulated self pride and stubbornness. Eventually I feel as if my reasons to defend this choice was only self sympathy. Oh, it’s ok, remember that time you cried when you watched some ER TV show? And to sum it up is the most pathetic wall hanging ever, in the most decrepit spot of the most decrepit house, a print out of a diploma from HMS. What a joke.

It’s a joke because of how I fooled myself. This pride within me has shattered now, after I had intentionally struck it with relentless force. The only thing that kept me at my plans was my pride. And therefore I’m lost.

It’s an eternal whirlwind of confusion, the black void swirling my ambitions, stripping my plans away with unforgiving tyranny. I loathe myself. I loathe my instability. I loath my plans. This ever increasing mountain of anxiety has collapsed on itself, spilling its terrifying shards of rock, spattering them deep into my ego, putting out the embers of my steam. I weep in isolation, I toil to cover my fears, I see an unknown path, ever so lonely. For it is no longer solitude that accompanies me, and I’m gorged with pitiful laments. The fragile windows shudder violently against the raging wind, it’s noise deafening my unsteady taps of the keyboard. There is silence in my mind; it no longer has my ego as a friend.

I choke and wail in a sea of my sorrows. I am drowning to the power of my own ego. My sentiments have slipped away too, silently through the valleys of my brain, unable to cope with my suffrage. If there is one who consoles me, if there is one to catch my tears, it is the soiled earth, neglected by a thousand soles.I beg upon the myself, for my mind has lost all control, I beg that it remains, that it keeps its steadfast steam.

Sail forth, against the waves; tears be my only counsel.


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