Lost in Paradise: 1-1

12-31-33

How did I convince myself that recording my feelings on paper wasn’t an idiotic idea? Besides the risk, pouring my soul out to a fictional ‘dear diary’ seems such a childish indulgence, especially for an Authority like myself. That's what it comes down to after all, doesn't it? The higher the caste, the greater the responsibility, the higher the standards to which one must hold one's self.

That's what they would have us believe anyways, because of course it's not automatically better to be in power. Naturally we get nicer accommodations and credit allowances because of the terrible weight we bear, having to tell other people what to do.

Goodness. I didn't realize how angry I was.

It wouldn't be so galling if the doctors here would drop their condescending mannerisms. I scored in the 99th percentile for caste placement not just in my Communal Care Center or even Sector 174 but out of every child in Paradise, and according to the testing committees my competence has not suffered upon reaching adulthood. I would not be training to become the next director of this Reformation Center if I were soft-minded enough to buy into their rhetoric.

I can't be the only sane staff member in this place. Somebody else has to realize what the actual purpose of a Reformation Center is.

But what do I know? I'm only an intern, and I've only been here for two months.

Maybe I should stop writing. The further I go, the more I realize how dissatisfied I am and it doesn't seem justified. I have a prestigious career in front of me. I have food to eat, I have a place to sleep, I have stability. I'm not a patient here, somehow.

I don't know. Maybe there's a reason people don't like me much.