I sent IP a copy of "The Devil Dyed Me Blue," and he told me that I was very talented. The social worker at Stanford who received the flash nonfiction just said in an email "Wow! [Jae].. That was really something! So many images and so much raw depth."
Is there a way to stand out of the crowd, even at a place like Stanford? I'm always haunted, by this idea, that I'm just like everyone else, even with this awful disease. I'm haunted by the idea that no one sees me for the person I am. That the people around me don't notice if I'm exceptional (am I exceptional? I don't feel exceptional.). That they don't value me. Or that I am worthless unless I do this great act like writing this outstanding memoir or completing this trying Ph.D.
Can I do one thing great? And belong somewhere among brilliant people like Elizabeth Wurtzel? One great book? Isn't that asking too much? Who put it in my mind to strive for such things? Why can't I be happy with my blog and my journal? What's with the craziness?
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