(September 25, 2014 at 8:27 pm)MusicLovingAtheist Wrote: My parents payed for a comprehensive evaluation of my IQ, mental diagnosis, ability to pay attention, and some irrelevant school stuff.IQ means precisely fucking shit. Ever hear of Richard Cage? Well I have a interesting story for you. Back the 1930 Louis termin. Louis was one of the pioneers behind IQ testing, and he wrote to every 5th grade teacher in the US asking for them send their brightest students for testing. He only accepted the top scoring students for this study that involved tracking these student and their achievements throughout their lives ( Its still going). However it is notable that Richard did not make the cut. But he did go on to invent the solid state transistor at bell labs. Intact the rejected pool of people went on to win more nobel prizes then the accepted pool did.
I'm upset because my IQ is 108. No one ever did anything great with an IQ of 108. It's average. I might as well just be working in construction or something (I hate construction). Hell, I'm probably not even smart enough to be a manager at a food industry (I hate food industry).
I was also diagnosed with an 80% chance of autism. They said my eye contact was bad, my interests are limited, and tend to lecture on specific subjects but I catch myself.
Then they told me that I have trouble paying attention which I don't care about. I just feel like I can pay attention to stuff just fine if it's interesting to me, but they had me take a test where they had me click a mouse every time a letter appeared on a screen and to avoid clicking on the letter X and the test went on for like 15 minutes. It was exhausting.
So basically I'm socially awkward, dumb, have difficulty paying attention. It just makes me sad.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
