Brothers in Arms

I wonder what possesses people to make friends. I mean, not just acquaintances, but knowing someone and exposing yourself to the point where you need to trust them. For some reason, I let myself do this with the people on my floor, and only one of them has even come remotely close to coming through as a friend, and even then, it's not really fair, since he's a fellow nerd (he put FreeBSD on a computer recently, and he's an open source person). People appear to be friends, and then, all of a sudden, they're not. They might be the next day, but you realize it's all been fake. It's never been a real connection. You're just dinner company, and at that, only as a scapegoat for insults. If Starcraft comes up, any reference to a mistake is labeled with your name. If any sort of social situation is called into question, so is your ability to perform, your sexual orientation, and so on. There's no mercy on the fifth floor of Dickinson. This reinforces my previous philosophy, which was decimated by a few people back home. I guess they were exceptions to the rule I've rediscovered here. This is why I'm anticipating my return trip with an almost positive attitude, despite my family. Seeing Alex and possibly Ashish, although Sahil will be there as well, will be incredibly refreshing. Hanging out with Max, Scott, Jeb, Erich, Julia, Rach, and the like will be a quick shot of protein for the rest of the pre-winter stretch. I can last; I've built up my immunity to insults. I just don't want to deal with it. It's too much work to put up with everyone, knowing that Alan and Draper and my English Writing professor can be trusted. Some people are borderline friends, like Brennan. When he's in an exceedingly good mood, or when you're agreeing with him, he's a decent person; when he's in a bad mood or with the other people on the floor, though, he takes as many stabs as anyone else. There's no end to it; Styck, Meghan, and Madeline at least ignore me, and Matt and Tom are friendly enough (although for some reason we don't connect on a level that propels us towards a solid frienship), but I have to put up with loads of shit from Chris, Ryan, Jeff, Brennan, and Nate, in that order. Also, I think I'm starting to annoy Alan, since I keep sort of dropping by his room, because it's sort of a safety net for me. I know he's not going to start trying to hurt me. I'm glad I've learned to ignore insults in general, since being numb has prevented probably several violent acts over the past week or so. I wonder if I should take the link to my blog out of my profile to avoid any conflict in case someone reads it by accident. Then again, maybe not, since I can count on none of them reading it.

The worst part of the whole deal is this returning thought that comes to haunt me every time someone cuts me down. I'm not hurt by their remark; I'm hurt by the voice in my head reminding me that my dad and so many other people have told me that your real friends come from college, not high school, and the only potential Brother in Arms that I've encountered here is Draper. He's the only sane one of the bunch, despite his (hilarious) insanity, and he's the only one that's completely dependable, and displays any sort of desire to be friends. He's secure in his identity, so he doesn't have to put me down to solidify his self image. Chris and Brennan constantly feel the need to confirm their FPS elitism (although I've watched them play, and my skill at least matches theirs, whether they're aware of it or not); Brennan continually reminds himself that his four inches are acceptable and that he's as straight as a ruler; Jeff and Ryan I can't figure out, but I can assume they're just going along with everyone else. The only thing I can do is continually remind them that I'm not exceptional or even average in any way, which greatly reduces the number of insults, since I don't claim to be intelligent or comedic or talented. I've noticed that it doesn't really matter how many times I tutor or correct someone in logical (math, physics, engineering) or other (grammar, style) aspects of academia, since this number diverges quickly and I'm still stupider than they are. I'll just leave it to them to figure it out, if they ever pull their swollen heads out of their asses. My primary goal is to keep them from all information about myself from now on, especially my connection to people at home. If I have a social life, their heads might explode, so I'd better maintain the illusion. Heaven forbid that they discover my knowledge of computers; that would require them to respect me, so they'd again write me off as an übernerd, which I accomplished when I expressed my love for Truth (math).

I guess this is what's meant by putting on a mask. I have to maintain my status as "Butt of All Jokes" and "Scapegoat for Insults That Might Otherwise Offend Me", or I'll upset the balance in our little universe, in which each of us except me is unique, important, and accepted. I can't display any acceptable quality, because then if they do actually decide to hurt me, I've given them real bullets. They're just firing blanks now, and at a cardboard figure at that. I couldn't care less what happens to my image, as long as my body is kept safe. As long as I can keep the image believable, keeping as many hints of real attributes on there as possible without actually revealing any truth, I can sit back and amuse myself. I just have to get that idea out of my head, and keep up my frienships from home with all my effort.

I wonder if the best way to test who's reading this is to write their name after the word "Fuck", and examine their reaction. I could also ask who reads this, but that would affect my writing; I prefer the general audience, pretending that no one reads this, so that I don't restrict myself. It's worth a shot, at least. If I mentioned your name above, and I wasn't impressed with your behavior, Fuck You. Discuss in a two page essay of at least seven hundred words.

Peace (is truly) out.