I’ve always wondered what intelligence really is. When I was little there was a fuzz over how smart I seemed to be. Apparently people were surprised, because of things I asked or stated. Many were suggesting I should attend to one of those Mensa things. My parents rather tried to raise me more normally although they didn’t quite succeed. I always experienced a bigger interest on my inner thoughts, and I used to spend heaps of time by myself, by choice. Some people thought I was autistic when seen from the far, except of course, when someone tried to interact with me I was extremely charming and sociable. After the interaction was over though, I always tried to run to that place in my mind, where everything I had learned started to make sense. I think most of the things in my mind weren’t even in language form, they just were. I remember having this visual scheme of my mind, where my thoughts are a lot of shapeless objects flowing around like a river current. There is more than one of these currents, and the one closer to the NOTHING is an ultra-fast flow of intelligible objects that represent my thoughts in its most pure form. Language free, shapeless, pure thoughts. Next to it, and closer to the OUTSIDE, is another current, where the flow is much slower, the objects are more ordered, and there are little hands coming out from this current, grabbing thoughts from the former current and adding them to the slower one. This second one has no thoughts of its own, because the first one is the source of all thoughts, and this is only a selection of thoughts to be made into language.
I remember thinking about a specific issue and feeling incredibly happy because I had understood something that most likely nobody else had noticed, at least not at the age I was in the moment. I often tried to put it into words, but most of the times I said to myself “well, I already understand it, how come I have to like… explain it to my own mind, if the explanation is already there?” so I didn’t put it into words. It all just stayed flowing really fast in the abstract current of purity.
When I was a teenager I crashed with the world, when for some reason my mind went slightly outside and realized I was “missing out” on many things other humans seemed to enjoy. Ever since then there has been a need to belong to something, and it’s been painful and many times I regretted being so introverted. When I was little I loved it, but now I was caught in a little bubble with no social abilities and a lack of interest on staying all alone with my thoughts. I wanted more, I wanted everything, and I had nothing. I was trapped between two walls.
Back then, when I used to stay inside my mind I was basically moodless. I didn’t know anything about myself really because I was busy analyzing abstract stuff and external stuff about the world, the minds of the people and more abstract stuff. When I was fifteen, someone at uni made a test about “What are your qualities and what your defects are”. It was a “Human Behaviour” class.
This is one of the most embarrassing times I can remember. I started to cry in front of everyone in the room…
I looked inside my mind and realized
I had no idea who I was.
NOT A CLUE. Not the slightest thing to cling on to serve as a pattern for BSing a little. Because I knew that’s what most people were doing. I didn’t care anymore about the damn assignement, or college, anyone or anything for that matter. My realization was a huge crush with the world.
I decided I hated my current pattern of thoughts. I wanted to get rid of it. I wanted to be NORMAL. I wanted to laugh and have lots of friends and have a boyfriend and be like all those people that look so happy.
So I worked on it, really hard.
What happened is that I passed from being moodless to be predominantly depressed.
I had not been able to make all this into shape before… right now it seems like it makes sense, but I had not considered it before.
Maybe this crash I had, between my inner world deprived of feelings and full of logic and reasoning; and the ideal of something that would be more fulfilling and ordinary is the origin of my depression.
Maybe not, but at least I have one hypothesis now.
In the PRESENT time, and after a lot of struggling, I’ve managed to balance things. They say balance is good, but balance is also ordinary. Extremes are special, and I still want to be special. I’ve had some of the best experiences ever when in company. But I feel less smart, and many times I feel lots of guilt for leaving my little exceptional world pursuing something… so vain?
I wanted so badly to be normal. But I don’t want to be ordinary either.
Idealy, I’d like to be special and at the same time, normal.
I didn’t feel anything before. Now I feel too much.
And honestly, I don’t know what’s better.