Diagnosed With Severe Intelligence: Trying to Live a Normal Life With Big Brains

It’s about time we talk about this rare condition.

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Ever since I was a kid, I was always good at learning, retaining, and applying information that I acquired with my brain.

Counting to 20 with my eyes closed? Consider it counted.

Differentiating between a square, a circle, and a triangle in less than 4.3 seconds? Dunski.

Reciting the Pledge of Allegiance while dribbling two basketballs? Come on, give me break.

Growing up, my parents thought that something was just really, I don’t know, above average with me, so they took me to a plethora of doctors. Unfortunately, none of them could make heads or tails of my strange, egghead-y condition. The most they would do was simply sigh, roll their eyes, and utter something like “I’m afraid your insurance doesn’t cover a 4.0 grade average.”

As an adult, my social life was difficult at times. My “friends” treat me as little more than a dude who knows a lot of stuff, so I was always invited to trivia nights at pubs, and ONLY trivia nights at pubs. Instead of receiving funny, jokey texts throughout the day from buds, I only got questions like “how do I replace transmission on a 73 buick?” or “who was the King of Prussia during the Napoleonic Wars?” or “can my dog be the executor of my will? He’s a Saint Bernard, if that helps!”

I finally decided that I had to put an end to all of the frustration and mild inconvenience, and went to see a doctor of ill repute. She was my only choice, and I am not proud. But I was just so tired of being knowing every correct answer that a personality-less contestant was going to give on Jeopardy. I was in a bad place, as you can see.

After making me take a battery of IQ tests, I got my diagnosis: Severe Intelligence. “Severe Intelligence?” I asked. “Is that even real?” The doctor shrugged and said, “Well, I do have a PhD in ‘Doctoring’, so I think I know what I’m physician-ing about.”

Walking out of that back alley medical (mal)practice, I was shocked that I had been living with a brainy disease my entire life. I was in a highly educated daze, a brilliant stupor, a state of sophisticated amazement.

However, after much therapy, journaling, and inward-looking-ness, I’ve decided to go about my business as if there was no genius germ gnawing away at my stupidity. Luckily, after breaking the news to my parents, they told me that they were going to stay with me until the end, and that they loved me no matter how many cures for cancer I developed during my lunch breaks (if only my supreme intellect could cure the crafty malady that plagues me; sighs and tears).

I’m not going to lie — it can be hard living with this much brains in my skull, but I think I’m starting to come to terms with it. Sure, I often get distracted by building perpetual motion machines that are too efficient, over-intellectualizing my coffee maker can be a pain in the proverbial ass, and I overuse big words like “proverbial”.

However, there’s a certain kind of pretentious tranquility that comes with knowing that you’re just smarter than everyone.

Especially YOU, you provincial hick!

Ha ha!



…Please love me.

Check out some other totally true stories about my weird life:

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I cover art, culture, film, comedy, creativity, books, and more at https://medium.com/the-reckless-muse

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