Diary of a Scientist

I often feel like I’m the only one struggling to find meaning in life. I feel like other people are moving forward with their lives while I´m still struggling with the same things. Just plain, everyday things that everyone else seems to manage easily. 

I saw a picture on the internet the other day where they described depression as running through peanut butter. Now, I’ve never run through peanut butter but my life can definitely be described by something like that. Is it not supposed to get easier? Should all your hard work not pay off at some point? 

I just want to fucking sit back and relax. But I can’t. There are experiments to be run, papers to be published, excellence to be achieved. 

I received my PhD diploma last week, which was great. Mostly. There was a part of me, an embarrassingly large part, that wanted to call the ETH department of Biology and complain. I envision that conversation going something like this: 

D-Biol: ETH department of Biology, how may I direct your call?

Me: Yeah, hi. I got my PhD diploma from your department last week. 

D-Biol: That’s great, congratulations. 

Me: Yeah, the problem is, though, that it’s in the wrong orientation. 

D-Biol: Excuse me?

Me: Yeah, you guys are really messing with my interior design vibe. It doesn’t match my other diplomas. I’d really need one in the portrait orientation instead of landscape. 

D-Biol: ...

Compiling years of work into a few figures results in a very ambiguous feeling. A part of you is very proud of the things you’ve accomplished but the overbearing perfectionist is just disappointed that you haven’t done more. 

Currently I feel about 50/50 proud/disappointed. I don’t think I can hope for more than that. 

So my thesis deadline is exactly a month away. 

I don’t know how to properly process that information. It’s not that I’m particularly stressed about not being done in time, it’s just that I never thought this far ahead. I never thought it was going to be over and I’d actually have to figure my shit out. I’ve grown to believe that I went to grad school to avoid real life. I’m almost 30 and I’ve never had a “regular” job that wasn’t a summer job. Is that bad? I don’t know.

I wrote up my CV today. My 9 years at university can be summed up in 1/3 of a page and soon 3 pieces of A4 sized paper. And I’m confused because I don’t know what that means to me anymore. It used to mean everything. I feel like I’m left with nothing except my student loan debt. I know that isn’t true, I’ve met people, gone places and done things during those years.

I thought I was a scientist, through and through. So, now what? 

I’m not good at it. 

Which is weird. Because I have thoughts. So many thoughts. Especially now that I’m writing my thesis. My current mental state, most likely caused by spending to much time with myself, is somewhat disappointing. Because I always thought that I could be a writer. So I thought I would write something. Anything. 

I feel like I’m having a breakdown. But at the same time I feel like I’ve got shit under control. That has never happened to me before. I’m an extreme. I’m all in or all out.

As a some sort of coping mechanism I went and got my ear pierced. Against my better judgement since I have problems with non-traditional piercings. 

I also revived my tongue piercing. I had it done about a 10 years ago and took it out in 2011 because I realized I wasn’t 19 anymore. Like that’s a reason.