Voices, Colors, Surreal

(Note to viewers: The following blog does not represent proper english grammar or syntax and is a reflection of a style of writing called stream of consciousness)

I'm sitting on my bed typing. The sound of the heater whirs. The keys are clacking. I'm really bored, stressed, frustrated. Silently, I curse the working minds behind the ACT, forcing me to push to no end to receive a score that I don't need but colleges do. It's that monster of a college, swallowing fun and happiness and spitting out wide-eyed sleep-deprived juniors. Pushing, shoving, losing sleep. Pushing and shoving some more. Losing humanity. Losing life. "The leaden circles [of life] dissolve into the air" (Woolf) and we never see it go by. The heart weighs heavily. Am I gaining weight? Am I seeing colors? I should exercise. I don't know, I hate exercise. I'll lose this weight eventually. Maybe we're all stuck in this eternal cycle of gaining weight, losing weight, stressing out, and experiencing the after effects. We're all experiencing PTSD. That's what this is. No, we're just juniors. PTSD is for war veterans. But I just looked this up. We've got a minute level of it of course. It's actually just a reaction to a traumatic event. School can be traumatic right? It's not fun and I'm pretty sure that by the time I get out of here I'll have a severe case of back ache that will traumatize me in the future. Stupid heavy backpacks. Stupid 3-floored high school. Can't even use the elevators to lift the load. Anyways, PTSD.

Sometimes I want to know the inner workings of a sociopath. What do they see, think; why do they see what they see and think what they think? And other people who have brain alterations. Septimus from, Virgina Woolf's book, Mrs.Dalloway? Quite strange I think. He's mentally depressed and hallucinates. He's probably schizophrenic. I just read that PTSD is related to schizophrenia. He sees strange people and colors. He thinks that everything is a symbol. I mean, what would I do if I looked up into the air and saw an airplane and just automatically assumed that the advertisement it was looping into the sky was a message to me? And if I could just catch every subliminal message that social media and modern culture throws at me, then I would be certifiably insane. Poor guy. Wait no, he's kind of a jerk. His poor wife. I can just imagine the random colors floating around his head, kind of like those psychedelic movies when people are high on some drug like LSD that makes them see random signs and mutter weird things.

I think, slowly, life will just take everybody to some stage of psychedelic induced images and voices. Of course, not as bad as him. He's just got no feelings and is completely trapped inside his own crazy mind. But maybe, slowly, slowly, us high schoolers are getting there. Maybe reading Mrs.Dalloway is subliminally messaging us to go insane (I'm just kidding). But high school definitely is.

I'm hungry. I think I'll go get lunch.