I had seven seizures last night after that guy I mentioned previously held my head down and I couldn’t breathe and my ribs were hurting.
I had trouble walking this morning and I had a massive migraine, but couldn’t take any painkillers because I took some last night and the label says not to take more than two within a 12 hour period.
I smoked three cigarettes in one hour. I turned in a piece of paper that had a few questions and a passage from a book that’s about genocide to my teacher and lied about going to the hospital.
I sat by the lake and thought about jumping in, but I figured it was probably really cold, so I didn’t.
I’m now at a coffee shop listening to a pop version of “La Vie en Rose,” and my coffee has gone cold, and I have hand-written four pages about how I hate art school and the people in it.
I think I need to move to a different city and start over. I was raped here. I was abused here. I have more fingers than I have friends. I can’t write anymore, I can’t get up in the morning without a real struggle to find a reason to live.
I was supposed to get a call for an internship interview, but they haven’t called. The only thing I’m excited about is this project I’m working on for a class taught by a teacher who is an asshole, and for this weekend, when my two closest and dearest friends are coming to the city from the suburbs to hang out with me.
I have two 8-10 page essays to write this week. I have approximately 70 books to make in the next two weeks. And somehow, I have to pay bills and remember to brush my teeth.
I can’t wait until college is over. I’d rather just deal with the crippling debt already.