E=mc^2

The quiet girl can no longer stand the way she had been treated for thinking differently, and she tries to explain to everyone else how she truly does think.

I'm just like the rest of you. I'm anatomically correct, got the same clothes, go to the same classes, solve the same equations, right? Wrong. I'm so different from all of you. In first grade I was contemplating the meaning of life while everyone else was learning 1+1=2. It's like they're all listening to the music because they like the sound, and I'm trying to figure out what each chord is and what the words truly mean. It's like I'm living in this whole other world - this whole other dimension - where mind is there but form is not and I only see glimpses of this universe through this portal that is just too far for my fingertips to reach. It's like everything is about the memorization, numbers, letters, words, not the thought, not the sentence. It's like someone will tell me that E=mc^2 and that e is energy, m is mass, and c is the speed of light, and they'll give me the numbers to input, and someone else will ask the answer and I understand the mathematics of the equation and I can apply that knowledge to find energy, to find mass, but everyone is just looking for the answer, and I want an explanation. I want to know why energy is, why mass really is, why they divide in that way. I want to know why it is, but everyone else wants to know what. I live in this world where I try to understand people, to find the best way to help them, to create the solution that could make their lives, and everyone else wants to carry on a conversation about the latest news. It gets so lonely, having this brain so full of thought and insight and curiosity and I'll admit it, brilliance, but no one to discuss it with. I have all these questions and hardly anyone has the answers and even those that do, care so little to even listen and I'm left silent, my mind screaming to be acknowledged, only to be ignored. It gets so lonely, knowing the only person you'll ever carry this conversation on with is yourself, and all you ask yourself is why I think, why I feel, why I am, why, why, why, and you can't research that. You can't think that through. You'll only get more questions and fewer answers. And it gets so lonely, knowing I've tried so hard to understand everything, that I've finally been able to understand you people in your language, but not in my own, and I've been able to put in my own language why I feel the way I do, and everyone is still listening to the what, that equation, that feeling, that form, and none of you, not one, has ever even considered to translate this mind.

Author's Note

So the other day I was having a very self-analytic and questioning moment, so I began this internal rant, which eventually I realized was actually a great monologue, so feel free to give me whatever opinions you wish. Thanks!

Reviews

[Emma Kirchhoff]

I really like the truth in this. I'm no genius, but the routine of wanting answers rather than understanding why it works is like trying to put together a puzzle by instruction, rather than by picture or size of the piece. I wish more people could take a look at this. This is a great piece of writing, and it portrays the element of tension, which really adds to the monologue. I really like it!