In my head, my thoughts are endless. They surely aren’t in comprehensible sentences, and speaking of them in a verbal manner is a huge mess. Just sounds come out that seem ever so nonsensical to me and everyone else around me. I wonder if every genius (or in my case borderline genius (a whopping IQ of 120)) feels like I do. I wonder if he doubts his self-importance every time he turns around, just like I do, every daunting second of my day. Not like there is any way to communicate these thoughts, because language is limited. Boy have I heard that through every single English class I have ever taken in college. I have always known that truth, even before they uttered it in the classroom full of my Neanderthal classmates (a select few were geniuses, but how I hated them all and how easy they made it seem to communicate their thoughts while my tongue was stuck babbling only a whopping tenth of what I was truly thinking). I was BORN knowing it. I lived a life of this lack of ability to communicate every single strand of thought in my ever so complicated mind (causing a crippling loneliness that I alone understand in my mind, reminding me of how poorly I fit in with ANYONE). And how I still struggle to communicate, even after four years of college learning English, psychology, and theatre. These are the CORE disciplines of humanity, and I still am not fully able to participate in the discourse of humanity.
I am stuck between this accursed limbo of Neanderthals and true geniuses. Neanderthals infuriate me with their lack of understanding basically anything, how I grit my teeth trying to explain even the simplest concept. Thank Goodness Teague’s Paradox runs through my mind whenever I deal with these lower life forms: “Nothing is so simple that it cannot be misunderstood.” Meanwhile, in the company of *true* geniuses, I find myself the Neanderthal, and I empathize with their frustration. No way that I could ever begin to understand the workings of their minds. How I desire it more than life itself, and even love I am afraid. Such is a fault, really. I am in love with discovering what lies within the minds of geniuses, my true love. I understand that such knowledge cannot be explained through language, especially the limited written language. How can I begin to show the world what lies in their minds, and even my own? I would of course try to explain the more important (and I assume clearer) contents of their minds before adding my two cents into the discourse of the truth that lies within their minds.
As I continue to attempt to formulate ideas of what I am attempting (rather poorly) to communicate, all I am getting are images and sounds. I’ll be damned if my thoughts could be clear. I am too concerned with worrying about the consequences of what would happen if I were to dump the entire contents of my mind onto this blank piece of cyberspace. Maybe my gifts would be exploited, and then I would have nothing left that is truly my own. Perhaps that is why I would still be apprehensive about sharing the contents of the mind of a *true* genius. Again, I believe that I empathize with them well. Perhaps they would like their thoughts to be private, as I would for mine. But there is still that desire to know and share how glorious I think these workings truly are. Unfortunately, when I love something so deeply, I want to share it. I want others to feel the joy that I do when I love something.
(Maybe I should have changed the title of this blog entry to, “I’m Not Ready To Share What I Want To Say With The World.” Then I would have written in this large space, “Because my thoughts are not clear enough to share, whether through spoken or written language. And how the hell can you share images and the five senses with someone else?”) If only my mind were that simple. Again, my mind is riding the fine line between Neanderthal and Genius. I guess I am just trying to figure out how to be the best at what I am good at and am trying to figure out how I can help society progress (in a small or large way, in any way at all).
So yeah, Al (my boyfriend’s code name) is right. Maybe I don’t hate people as much as I claim to. Maybe I should never say that I do ever again, even if I am speaking the exact opposite of what I am thinking. Maybe I wish I could say that I truly love people without feeling like I am going to exploited or disappointed. (I’m still trying to figure out how I share my love with everyone without being selfish or hated.) There are too many people that don’t love people, especially in this society. Please tell me that the future of humanity is not to hate each other more than we ever did in the past, although I fear it is. In fact, society is so backwards that I find myself more confused (and frustrated) with each day that I live. (I couldn’t speculate on other societies that live in other parts of the world. I know people that can, and from what I have heard, people get along slightly better in this other societies than we do here in America. That is all of the knowledge I possess on this part of the subject.)
I guess all I can do is keep trying (to improve), no matter how fruitless it may seem sometimes. If only I had better control of the thoughts (whether spoken, sensed, or written, or otherwise) that run through my head constantly. If only I did not feel like I was arguing with myself on a constant basis (especially lately). Perhaps if these conditions were met, then my relationships with people would be better. I keep asking myself why I care so much about these things, really. Is that because I was brainwashed to be this way, or because humans are biologically pack animals? Do I care because that’s the core of whom I am (if so, I can’t even begin to speculate why), or is it because it is expected of me?
Xara Nahara O’Connor