Dysalexic

It’s almost October. Things should have settled down by now. The hum drum of school has already set in. Classes drag on, and I swear if I have to listen to another monotone lecturer speak their bullshit truths, I may pass out and die. But that’s college, I guess. I’m learning Russian, and that seems to be about the only thing worth going to school for right now. At least, in that class, I seem to learn something new every day. I also go to class with some pretty interesting people. People that I never thought I would get along with, but somehow we’re all clicking. It’s nice to be around people that find me amusing again.

I feel like my friends don’t really exist. I know they do, but when I’m around them they make me feel like an idiot. I don’t have anything to share with them besides the boring day to day life I endure. I come home. I play the Sims until my eyes bleed. I do Russian homework and try to forget how to breathe.

I actually forgot how to swallow the other night. And had a mini mind convulsion and ended up twitching on the floor. Oh my god. I’m turning retarded. But then again, we knew that awhile ago.

I sort of miss Bar Harbor. I miss the cleanish air and the hippie vibe. I mean, Portland is kind of a hippie town, but around where I live it’s only Somalians.

Although a woman the other day told me that I was a gift. I think she was strung out. She said it was my red hair. Her girlfriend had red hair. She died. She was a 40-year old artist. Even my compliments are laced with sadness.

I wish I literally could forget how to swallow and choke on peanut butter. That would be a good way to go.

My “fake” roommate and I were very bored earlier. We decided it would be a good idea to swallow razorblades and wander over to Maine Med to get fixed. It would have been an adventure.

I feel like I’m always waiting for someone. Someone to make me feel better. To hold me and tell me it’s going to be alright. But, I don’t get that. It feels lost.