Two more weeks until classes start.
Do you hear the excitement in my statement? No? That's because it's not ######6 there.

I don't know why I'm in college. Well, I know why I'm in college. I don't know how I'm still in college. If it wasn't for the extra sharp little brain of my handling a bunch of $#%^ at one time I would have dropped out a while ago, so this is a personal thanks to my brain for putting up with everything it does. I'm quite impressed and I'm quite grateful. Me and him have our quarrels but If I had a different brain I just wouldn't be the same. I couldn't imagine that.

I never read the textbooks. I buy them (usually on amazon) but I don't read them because I don't need to. Unless the professor didn't go over a topic in class, all the information just sits in the back of my head until I need it. People always ask me how I study and I never know how to answer because I rarely study. I practice problems for calc of course, but if the class is heavy in reading, writing, analyzing, or anything that doesn't include arithmetic then I see no point in going over what I already remember. It's a gift, I think. It makes classes really easy. It's a gift, I think.

I'm not a genius and I don't have an Eidetic memory, that's for sure. But when I see words, it's weird. They become their own little chunk of memory space, especially if I write it down too. My first semester of calculus I realized I was really going to struggle in the class with the professor (he explained things in the words of the textbook without translating it into English) so I devised a way to remember his lectures. He talked fast, wrote fast, and if you didn't catch it, oh well. I figured if I spelled out and pictured every word he said, every word he wrote down ( in addition to me taking notes) i'd be able to recall a portion of the lecture whenever I wanted. With some practice, It actually worked. It's been a year and a half since that class and I still have picture perfect memories of his lectures on the chalk board. I remember the saw he drew as a way to help us understand inflection points. His story behind it mostly helped me remember though. Apparently there used to be some dude in the downtown area who played music by strumming a saw and it was the long waves spiraling down the body of the blade he focused on. I hated that class. That was about as interesting as it got.

My other calculus professor was amazing. He explained things so simply and always threw the book to the ground. He'd tell you to shut up right in your face if he got annoyed by your whiny little voice in the corner. His quizzes were easy, we rarely did group work, and everything was very straight forward. I had the courage to approach him for help a few times in the beginning of the semester. Me. That's saying something about his character and about the progress I've made with my social anxiety.

It's amazing what words can do to your mindset though. Through all of my k-12 years of school, I've been horrible at math. I couldn't do my times tables in elementary school, but I read at a high school level. Go figure I struggled in math because I couldn't ask question. I never needed to ask questions with reading and writing, so I excelled. I failed algebra a total of five times the next few years, barely scratched by in geometry and failed "Algebra 2" (pre calc and trig). Well, the teacher gave me a D but I knew I deserved a failing grade. He cut me slack because I always did my homework, I tried my hardest I could to understand without the ability to raise my hand and acknowledge I needed help, and i'd been in his geometry class with the same determination. I felt horrible when I heard him and his wife separated and he spiraled into a depression. He left my high school (that school lost one of the best math teachers they'd ever had. Several others got pink...

[ Continued ]

There's something dark looming over me. I don't like being watched.

Arachnophobia is a bitch!!
That little freak crawled along side the wall right by my face and I nearly flew off my bed! It's one in the morning, why did it have to make me scream like that? It was the size of a damn quarter! I swear it wrapped it's little legs around my throat and choked the breath out of me. What's the first thing I do after I realize i'm still alive and I can breathe? Take a picture of it and send it to my boyfriend with all caps ordering him to kill it. I killed it though. It stopped on the wall and I took some deep breaths, stood up, shook my hands out, hopped from foot to foot, stood paralyzed for a minute, $#%^ my pants, drenched my floor in sweat, slapped my mama, and then reached a moment of enlightenment. A little voice spoke to me--use your telepathic powers. I tried; it didn't work. So I grabbed a shoe and squished it's nasty little freak body all over the wall. Then I had to wash away the stain. I wanted to leave it there as a warning for any of his little friends to stay the hell away from me, but it was too close to my face. I guess I'm doing some spring cleaning tomorrow. Every item in this room is being removed and every crevice, corner, and strand of carpet is getting stroked with a vacuum hose. I need to make room for my new edition to the family and my fourth computer Now my other three will have a friend. I wish they'd talk to each other as much as I talk to them.

Anyway, I guess I didn't need to sleep tonight. I'm too bad ass for sleep. I'm an expert on sleeplessness. I'm a damn sleepless GOD!

I'm so tired.

I've been up for 21 hours. I think it was worse a couple days ago when I was up for close to 48 hours. I slept 12 hours in between the 48 hour streak and the 21 hour streak Don't really know what that means. I can feel my eyelids are tired, my body is tired, my ass hurts from sitting in this particular spot but I just can't find myself to shut off my brain just yet. I've been spiraling downward steadily for the last few weeks, yet again. I hit my lowest point last week and stayed in bed for a week. Now i'm up and about but I can't identify what i'm feeling--it's some convoluted mix of elation and inflated ego with ideas of being devilish or urges to be the evil in the world. I crave power and destruction and I want to be the nightmare everyone wishes they could wake up from. I'd never be violent towards anyone or anything unless i'm being physically attacked. I just think being the devil would make me happy. Is that weird? It sounds like something people would think is weird.

Perfect song lyric as I write this: "I might just explode, my mind in sick mode and I can't control my. . . hunger . . . In my wicked soul all kind of $#%^ grows and I just expose my . . . hunger..." #TechN9ne

This is why I tell people writing saves my life. With fiction pieces I can branch off the sick parts of my personality into sick characters who people then despise instead of me--it's the perfect ruse You can express thoughts, feelings, ideals, irrational philosophy out the eyes of a character and people will complement you on the depth you've developed. But dear God, don't hint the dark parts of your characters came from your actual self because then you're a psychopath. Go figure, I guess.

Then again, I've always been intrigued by power. I hated being under the orders of incompetent supervisors and managers, all of which thought I was useless anyway, and i'll always hate being under the orders of someone else. If I do it myself I know i'm doing it right--if I do it their way, God knows what could go wrong. They could ask me to set a book on a shelf and the whole goddamn place could fall through the floor to the pits of hell. ###$ that. I'd rather screw myself over than let someone else screw me over.

I guess that's why I'm going for my M.D. Before I even knew what college was I wanted to attend Musicians Institute and get contracted with a studio band. After that I switched my plans and wanted to get my Ph.D in English and live my life as a recluse like J.D Salinger pumping out the books and racking in the dough (not that he did a lot of that, but in today's society I could pull it off). After that fiasco I wanted to get my Ph.D in Physics. Then I discovered psychology and wanted to get my Ph.D in Neurophysics. Now I want my M.D in psychiatry. I NEVER settle for second best. I push through a lot of ailments for this. I sacrifice a lot of peace. But I refuse to be a goddamn statistic on some psychology statisticians journal article. I took statistics. It's stupid. It's. Stupid. There are too many ways to manipulate it.

People laugh at me all the time because i'm a contradiction: I can't stand conformity yet i'm going through such lengths to get a degree, a little piece of paper that tells everyone I'm an expert. Yes, in fact, i'm conforming in order to have a little piece of paper that tells everyone i'm more of an expert than the guy below me. You can't...

[ Continued ]

I. Can't. Sleep.
Not because i'm elated or any manic, and i'm not a meth, cocaine, or stimulant addict, I just can't. Sleep.

I'm also so tired I can barely think straight. Is that even possible? So instead I spend my time lurking around psychforums and psychcentral reading other people's problems and the solutions that get suggested. I'm also hungry. It's even harder to think when you're hungry and tired and can't do anything about either problem.

I also hate how the more tired I get the more weird my brain gets. The harder it is for me to tell that i'm alive. Of course I know I"m alive, but I don't feel like it. That's the best way I can describe a feeling indescribable. Every day is confusing now. It's hard to tell exactly what i'm feeling or why i'm feeling it or whether or not I should even pay attention to any of it; the more I pay attention to everything the worse it seems to get.

Sitting alone is the worst thing for me. When I know i'm completely alone I get worried something is going to happen to me, something I can't stop, something that would ultimately result in my death, a slow death of which i'd have to live through every agonizing second knowing no help could ever come. Maybe it's irrational, I don't know. Does anything mean anything anymore? I'm pretty sure my boyfriend things i'm losing my mind with all the strange texts he wakes up to every morning. I still remember the night I spent at his house and woke up believing I had heart disease and that it was killing me. I woke him to get me a glass of water in hopes I could compose myself by the time he fell out of the bed and wandered into the kitchen. I ended up keeping him up all night. At least he told me jokes and stories to help me calm down.

Memories like that remind me how far I've still got to go. I feel like i'm touching the tip of the ice berg here and something greater will eventually unveil itself. I haven't yet admitted that to anyone, not even myself; I try to brush the idea off my shoulder. But now I think it's time to come clean--something is definitely going on and I have no idea what it is. I guess i'll have to see what another psychologist has to say.

I'm ready to stop feeling so odd. Maybe a psychologist isn't the answer (experience tells me it's not) but it might help me figure out the solution on my own. All I know is right now I'm tired, I don't feel like I'm in real life, and if my stomach doesn't stop growling i'm going to feed it my arm.