I have survived . . .

My mind is simply broken, being treated like a toy for the professor play, delude, tear apart and reconstruct.

If mind was never meant for feeling, then why is it crying?

Emily Dickinson:

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -

Lovely piece of poetry that is. A little depressing, but that's the way I like poetry, to the dismay of many people who might like something too saccharine for my taste.

But my O-chem professor did include a poem, which the head GSI made fun of by pretending to be a student with only ten minutes left on the clock screaming, "I don't have the fucking time to read this!" He did acknowledge that we can look at it for inspiration, even if it didn't do a thing about helping you solve a mechanism or a retrosynthesis.

I can't remember the poem, and I can't find it online. It was something inspiring about waking up in the morning. If I ever find it, I will put it here.