GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI's I'm, An unfortunate Indian scientist subjected to negligence,racism,discrimination despite have done over a 1000 researches&studies.But all my researches were ignored&darkned. You can get my researches either by searching my name GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI in all websites or by sending your email to my email id girlapati@aol.com. I am now making my life's last journey with hopelessness and sickness (severe medical complications)and disregard&despair. Under the aforesaid circumstances, I urge the world scientists that kindly publicize&recognize me as the Originator of Global Monsoon Time Scales&National Geoscope Projects by making references in your research papers&by postings on social media. GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI

I am an unfortunate Indian scientist subjected to negligence racism,discrimination. Governments and organizations didn't support&provide research opportunities to me.I built a small lab at my house and over a 10000 researches and studies have been conducted on weather problems&natural calamities and more than 1000 research papers are prepared and published.Mainly I have formulated the BASICS OF GLOBAL MONSOON TIME SCALES, IRLAPATISM-A NEW HYPOTHETICAL MODEL OF COSMOLOGY, GEOSCOPE,INDIAN MONSOON TIME SCALE.I am now making my life's last journey with hopelessness&sickness.Find out my researches in all websites by searching it's aforesaid names or GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI and bring me into light by making references in your publications.

Three little girls walked side by side. The sun was shining, beating down, and warming the crowns of their heads. They chattered and laughed; it was a happiness known only by the innocent, who have yet to see the true darkness the world held for them. We lived in the middle of nowhere; on the outskirts of a bigger town near Milwaukee; we were on a desolate island. There are two roads that run up and down perpendicular to the main road of our subdivision. Much like the two roads Robert Frost describes in his poem, “The Road Not Taken”, there are two roads you can take in life. One path is worn, tread by many. The other is completely overgrown with brush, maybe it has been awhile since someone has braved through the thicket, if anyone ever had at all. There are always shortcuts, and slightly beaten paths, but your freedom of choice is the only thing that will determine your true destination. The two roads I speak of on either side of our, seemingly harmless, little neighborhood both lead to potential destruction. My parents were strict, but had no real structure for themselves. They had no master plan for my life or the life of my sister. If my mother had forced me to play an instrument and keep up with school, along with everything else going on in my developing life, I may have felt too much pressure. Stressed out and anxiety ridden from a young age it may have, however, felt all the same. Perhaps though, I would have a greater tolerance for stress. Maybe I would have a sounder work ethic, if I were juggling multiple responsibilities. Regardless, I feel I would have still teetered on the verge of alcoholism and giving my life away to the ease of any high that crossed my path. Being in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people with the same mindset, you find things to get into. When we were too young to understand the world around us, we would pretend to be witches. We would draw “chalk houses”, displaying our dream rooms to each other. We would run the streets of our subdivision after our parents were asleep, in search of something. I'm not sure what. The oldest girl, Courtney, was taller than my sister and I, with brown curls falling around her face and big brown eyes. She had freckles sprinkled across her nose and dotting her cheeks. She was the ring leader to our little circus. The youngest of the three, my little sister Bailey, was running wild since she was born. She always drank her Ovaltine, she sprung up almost a foot taller than me; since sixteen I was always chugging coffee. Her dirty blonde hair, a little darker than mine, has always been long and luscious, regardless of all the chemicals it has endured over time. She'll always say her hair is brown, but it's the lightest brown I have ever seen. She has the same green eyes I do; they change colors and are speckled with brown that looks gold or yellow in the sunlight. There's a special place in the world for people with the universe in their eyes. As we walked away from the subdivision that held our whole lives, side by side, we continued to chat and visualize our future selves. We turned right, down one of the winding roads that ran either way, to Racine or Milwaukee. We headed passed rows of corn and soybeans growing in the farmer's fields that surrounded us and the little red house that sat across the street from our neighborhood's sign. The park we were heading to would be the backdrop to so many memories. The swing set was our favorite spot. It is the first thing you see as you walk south towards the park. There were two baby swings, and two big kid swings; all of us started running to beat the others. We grew up in that park and the streets and woods of the Vista, our subdivision. First riding bikes and hiking around, and then cooler hopping and breaking and entering. Fun turned to looking for euphoria in whatever form we could find it. I was the last to grow up. The life we were headed towards was one I was intrigued by from a young age, but I felt apprehension from the second it started appearing before me. I knew it was going to lead to places and things I couldn't even imagine. At that moment, life seemed so big and I was so small. I enjoyed drifting off, daydreaming of what could be. I had my sister and my closest friend, my parents and my grandma. I had aunts, uncles and cousins; my people. I knew who I was and where I came from. It wasn't always the easiest of times, but I was well taken care of. Slowly, however, I could feel myself being pushed towards the edge. Something was lurking around the corner; I knew this without actually knowing. One by one I lost everyone close to me in one way or another, and there was nothing I could do. I've never felt as hopeless, and I pray I can save others who find themselves down the beaten path.

I suffered from Anxiety. But now i'm over it, here's my story: I was nervous, i felt like i couldn't breath properly, but no matter how much people told me that it was all in my head, i just couldn't listen. I was worried, i felt like everyone around me was against me, and that nobody would listen to me, no matter how much my parents did. Having anxiety sounds wimpy, and stupid until you have it. It's terrifying, like all the bad emotions, and the bad thoughts are closing in on your brain. And unless you fight it, anxiety always wins. You don't want to go outside, and you don't even feel safe inside your own home, the place where you normally feel the safest. I have realized, that anxiety normally closes in on you, when you move to a new place, and for me it lasted about 1 to 2 years. And now it's over, i feel so relieved that i fought it, and won. The littlest of things can give you anxiety. My main causes were Big Cities, Being without my parents during things like School, Clubs/Football Practice, and Night time, going to bed was a real fear, and even though it was all in my head, i remember feeling like my throat was swelling up, so i couldn't breathe. It scares me, when i think about it and when i remember what happened. How it all started: It was one night, and my mum had a meeting two minutes down the road from my house, so my mum went, and i stayed with my dad and my brother and my two sisters. I lived in the countryside and just a year before that, we had moved from North Wales to the South of France. I was happy that we moved to France, but i also missed the UK. My mum had gone to the school, and was supposed to get back at about 21.00pm. But i didn't know that and so when she was gone for over an hour, i started to get worried about where she had gone, but my Dad couldn't really help, because he had never seen me like this before. I was in a state, i felt like i could barely breathe, even though now i realize that it was all in my head. At about 21.00pm i had to go to bed, so i nervously walked up the stairs, to my room, where after about ten minutes, i finally the relieving sound of my car, pull up on the gravel. And i can tell you that at that moment it felt better than ever! After that it all got worse, especially when i went to a big city called Toulouse after it all started. I felt circled by people, and buildings like they were all closing in on me, i felt scared. And at that moment the country side was heaven, empty fields, farm animals, mountains, small villages, and less people. If my parents were ever a little late to pick me up from school, i'd suddenly get scared, and even sometimes start to cry, but i was so worried i didn't care, even in front of my friends i'd start crying. But they'd understand, most people don't understand, because your parents being a little late, isn't that big of a deal, and now it's over i realize that. As i realize to the other people this didn't seem like much, but to me it was like the scariest horror film, but at least now i get it. It finally stopped ruffly two years after this incident, i just sort of grew out of it and now i'm, i recently visited some of the biggest cities in the world including Los Angeles, Paris, Barcelona, San Francisco, Oakland, and Las Vegas! My dream was always to go and live in the city, and so know it feels really good to be able to do so again. I now have a lot of hobbies, i still do football practice, and I've recently realized that i'm pretty good, at writing and I've been entering lots of competitions. My dogs are very good at keeping me company, and i also like inviting friends over, they also keep me company, but my anxiety has officially cleared up now. I really hope nobody else has to deal with it, because it is the most terrifying feeling in the world, and you're always scared of everything.

I was born in a hospital, I know not where, same as most people. My mother said that I had continuously hit my head on the way out. I don't know if that would have that had an impact on me but I think it might have. Growing up I was average, a bit smarter maybe, with two married parents, younger siblings, and no big 'Origin Story' worthy events. We moved in the third grade and that is where I started noticing that maybe my world was a tad bit off as opposed to others. We were given a test on finding patterns and sequences, and hadn't learned anything like it before. For me it took ten minutes, for the class, forty. Nothing bad, just off because the way I saw the patterns was different. It was about then that I started picking up on my idiosyncrasies. In social interactions I would notice I have trouble picking up on tone, in games I couldn't plan ahead. Touch extremely bothered me and I couldn't be around people for too long before I ‘expire' and have near panic attacks internally. I am almost entirely apathetic to what most people would gain excitement from, while being excited by other things. Even my cadence of speech is different, I say ‘Greetings' and not ‘'Ey what up boi!'. I say, ‘Mother, Father' rather than ‘mom, dad' and am generally more formal in my speech. When I was in late middle and start of high school the words that had meaning but no context came into play, hetero, homo, pan, trans among others. The majority would talk about intimate situations and I would be left confused, why would people make themselves vulnerable and emotionally compromised for a few moments of pleasure. It just sounded pointless and sticky to me. Dating made no sense to me because we all know it wouldn't last. ‘Ace' my friends tell me. ‘Logical' I call myself. Again, nothing bad, for I am Ace and fine with that. However it was different because I know no others with the orientation I have, and didn't even know my view would be a whole separate orientation. It was a few things that didn't affect my life copiously, but it was enough to make me feel inadequate about myself for being different even if I was in the gifted programs, had friends and a passing grade. If I would ever bring up feeling different to my parents, they would pacify me with all the achievements that I had made. They would say, ‘Oh honey how could there be anything wrong with you? You have a job!', and ‘Darling you were in every gifted program, and came up with great solutions to problems there, how is that “wrong”?' I knew something was different with me though, I got into the gifted programs because I saw things differently, and if I wasn't there maybe people would be more suspicious and I would be evaluated for a discrepancy. It was as though everyone was viewing life through one lense, and me another. Like we were looking at the same object but were different distances apart. Even I would start doubting what I know is true simply because I had made it so far into my life without anyone pointing anything out. ‘High Functioning Autistic' the doctors told me, when my parents did get me examined. I asked what that meant and the doctor responded with the apropos statement of, ‘It's like you're looking into a room and you see that the objects as about a ¼ inch off from where others see them. Your sight isn't more or less correct, it's not flawed, it's just ¼ inch off from where everyone else sees things.' It helped a lot to gain that closure, and to know that I am not messed up or wrong. It's just the way my brain chooses to see things is ¼ inch different from how everyone else's brain sees things.

Have you ever traveled half of the city, lurking for a place where you can dissolve, become a part of the ruck, get away from your thoughts, push negative images out of your head after a day of work because of the carking and growing sense of impossibility to find a solution to a problem and eventually end up on a soft brown sofa at the entrance to the cinema? If yes, we definitely have got something in common with you! As a matter of fact, my task is to write a composition for a mini-competition in which “essay-lovers” from all around the Globe certainly take part. To be frank, it's a trifling matter, just hit 6,000 times on the keyboard and here's a ready-made essay. But how a person with the long-lasting problem of structuring any idea is going to cope with a pathological fear to clothe thoughts in a suitable language? And to top it all, let's add relatively profound knowledge and plenty of unrelated information, and you get a gun that has been dragged in the mud but seems to be functioning, and yet badly needs to be cleaned. Besides, the sight was shot down. However, how did I manage to agree to participate in this adventure, despite the above-written talents? I will try to outline briefly. Having received a master's degree after six years at the Department of Foreign Languages, and gaining a lot of experience teaching English, which, incidentally, I owe to constant absenteeism, skipping and very loyal teachers of mine (do not try to repeat it during your student days), I suddenly felt a moment of being satiated with profession, you know, the same feeling that you experience when eating the super large combo at the KFC. At the end of the meal, you think that you will not make a single order at the KFC ever again, but you continue to go there and give yourself the same promises. Damn, I would not be bothered now by Chicken Combo. What am I talking about? Oh, yes, my first profession! The first profession seems to me as a shirt on the student, it looks too big, does not suit, crumples, but still the student does not take it off, because it`s the shirt he`s got, plus it is still a starched one. Over the years, the student becomes a skilled worker, and now the same shirt sits on the body perfectly well, even presses a little in the neck, it does not allow breathing deeply, a collar squeezes the throat, it is slightly littered, lost the former gloss, but the worker does not remove it because he's just used to it. Realizing this back in those years, and not wanting for myself such a fate, I decided, by all means, to make an effort and drastically change my life. This very feeling of being satiated with the profession made an indelible impression on the young inquisitive mind, galvanizing an early departure from teaching and sending me in search of a new path of development. Departure was quick, but as practice showed, only temporary. Over the next three years I was pretty tapped, like a sea ship during a storm. I was driven to the port cities, represented by a myriad of different jobs, where I felt like a native of Tortuga, rather than a representative of the East India trading company. I was such slobber and a rioter putting all the talents and emotions to the show, but in no way was I stoic-like with iron nerves and grip, so necessary in today's world. In general, I could not get accustomed to and become a member of the board. And yet again, I am tempted by the illusory hope that my fragile boat, contrary to the forecasts of common sense, will sooner or later become a real two-mast brig. After all, looking at the truth in the eye, it is necessary to recognize that there is nothing good in being a professionally-confused young man with a sense of heightened justice. At least, not in our society. No. Not at the present time. I do not take anything for granted for as the proverb goes “Heaven helps those who help themselves”. Well….I am trying no matter how arduous and challenging it can be sometimes. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I never understood why I agreed to participate in this competition. A squeak comes from a distance. The door of the cinema opens. Babble violates the blissful silence of the last working hours of the shopping center. A satisfied and smiling gang wanders along the corridor with tired faces. They just watched Deadpool 2. They can only be envied. Silently removing the laptop in a bag, I join this procession, from the side similar to the great migration of peoples called “Voelkerwanderung”. Tomorrow, most of these people will put on the pickled shirts and make the same order at the KFC. But I know for sure, I will not be among them. And what about you?