Tell me about yourself

Collapse @ ENS

This is a draft, any advice to improve writing about derealization/depersonalization is welcomed -- I'm trying to improve the last section
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“Tell me about yourself,” says Examiner One — the man with the black vest, tapping his pen like a metronome.

My lips part. My throat’s dry.
One palm is clammy against the chair.
Nothing comes. My mind just—blanks.

Oh no.
Now is not the time to play tricks on me Brain.
Get a hold of yourself.

We’ve nailed this oral exam so far — nailed it.
Consciousness, identity, machines, the whole existential buffet.
I even dropped Merleau-Ponty to impress Examiner Two.
This is the finish line — we can’t fail now.
This isn’t some random school — it’s the Cognitive Science program.
Elite. Selective. Soul-crushing competition.
Our name is practically there. We’re about to become someone.

"That's… important."
Oh come on. Seriously? That’s what I’ve got?

We know the drill.
They’re not asking who I am. They’re asking for the performance.
We’ve done this before. Build the story. Find the hook. Anchor it in something — a moment, a detail, anything.

“I… Well. I… I am—”
Jesus Christ. I am what?

The room is uncomfortably calm. The three examiners are sitting across from me, waiting.
I can hear Examiner One's watch ticking.
Examiner Three’s smiling — that expectant kind that says 'Take your time, we’re sure it’ll be brilliant.'
I smile back as if I knew what I was doing.
I'm about to disappoint her so hard.
Nothing comes to mind. Just my heartbeat, getting louder.
A flicker in Examiner Two's eyes. Confusion? Pity?
I’m tanking. God, someone knock me out.
I’d rather black out than sit through this.

Quote someone. Anyone.
Hell, I’ll take "To be or not to be" at this point.

Twenty-five years of excellence. Undone by one question.
Is this how it ends?

"William Wordsworth said..."
My mouth moves before I understand what’s happening.

"The Child is the father of the Man..."
The examiners straighten, subtly.
Relief floods in so fast it makes me dizzy.

"Telling you who I am is telling you about the child I was..."

The dizziness doesn't fade. It thickens.
My heart pounds in my ears. My eyes sting. My voice won’t hold steady.
Not sadness. Something’s coming loose.

“Who we are begins long before we’re capable of choosing anything...”

Still, my brain keeps going.
Obedient. Fluent.
Telling the story I demanded from it.

"So when you ask me who I am — you’re not really asking about me..."

That line didn't sound like it was meant for them.

The room turns artificial, too bright.
I’m here, but not in it. Watching this unfold from a few inches outside myself.

"You’re asking for the biography of my influences."

My brain mutinied.
Please don’t be a Meursault — you’ll die a fool.

"But what if I’ve never really made a choice?"

Maybe I was already a fool at heart.

"I became what got rewarded. Optimized for approval. For admiration..."

I look at their confused expressions.

“I’ve performed well. Exceptionally well. But it’s never enough. You want to be sure I’ve earned my place. That’s all I’ve ever known: how to earn it. I’ll keep jumping through the hoops. I’ll be praised for it. I’ll help people. And when it’s still not enough, I’ll give more. That’s who I am.
That’s how far she could go.”

The words stop.
There’s silence.

I look at them.
They’re still waiting for something.
But there’s nothing left I want to give.

I grasped at the symbols of Prestige and Excellence, hoping they'd jolt me back into reason.
Institutional lighting. Banners bearing the school’s name. Century-old gold threading. Names etched in marble — reminders of the minds who came before. People cross continents for this. Knowledge matters. Merit is real. The world runs on order and Reason. A temple of brilliance. A cathedral for the mind.

But none of it holds.
The banners look tired. The marble, smudged. The aura of institutional meaning collapses. Suddenly, it’s all meaningless. I don’t care about earning anything. I don’t care whether I’m inside or out. And that’s why I want out.
Because now, it could be anywhere.


“Thank you for your time.”

I smile, because that’s what she’d do. Then I leave.