I have spent plenty of time alone determining how I am a loser. I can assure you I’ve pinpointed exactly what makes me a loser, and it’s not just me being hard on myself. I thought getting into Harvard would mean I’m not a loser but I was horribly wrong. Social interaction is the basis for a successful life, and I’m a complete failure at it. It’s not a matter of being “shy” or “socially awkward.” My inability to fit in isn’t the cute Hollywood portrayal of a quirk that I can just overcome by being more outgoing. Some people are losers and some are winners, and I’m in the former group. I can already envision myself making a fool out of myself trying to talk to a counselor. All it would do is remind me that there’s no hope. If you liken my condition to a disease, then it’s hereditary terminal cancer. It’s a genetic damnation with no cure that comes from inside and will stay with me to the end. What difference does it make if I go to the doctor? It’s the same outcome regardless of diagnosis.