9:30 A.M. - Sunday
February 19, 2019
I sent him a message today. We'll see if he answers. I keep thinking about him more and more for some reason, and I couldn't tell you why. I'm just so tired of being lonely that I imagine a fairytale world where he will see how good we are together and realize his mistakes.
Maybe I'm crazy but the more I think about him the more I realize how obsessive I am. My parents have mentioned it before, which is why I always assumed I was sick in the brain. One time after doing research on autism (and I mean copious amounts of research) I thought I had it; like I was misdiagnosed or something. I do have this weird passion almost for learning about autistic patients. Its fascinating to me and I see them in such a heroic light that one time i remember wishing i had it.
I know that's a horrible thing to think about, and I should be thankful that I was blessed to have no issues, but it's something that happened and I'm not going to deny it. I was a weird child and still am a weird adult.
Weird side rant, people with autism have higher sensitivity to life so I imagine that not only is their life harder than us "neurotypicals" as they call it, I have this image in my head that when you're diagnosed with ASD your whole world slows down like a scene in a movie where someone's son has just been killed in a car accident, and the mother can't cope with the information. Except I image that the whole world literally slows down.
Something else I want to get off my chest today is that I have been writing in my story journal a lot recently. I know it may not seem like anything to someone on the outside, but my roommate has noticed.
I should probably explain who she is because I'll probably write in here about her. She's my rock. She is the epitome of a small town religious girl. She has some views that I don't agree with, and others that I can't express enough support for.
She grew up in rural Ireland, so you can probably imagine what she looks like. Tall, skinny and black. That's right, a colored Irish girl. It was weird to me at first because you always expect Irish people to be the whitest and easiest burning people ever - like me. I'm like 1/4 Irish and look how others probably imagine me; light skin, blonde hair, and blueish-green eyes.
Update: He never answered. It's been upwards of eight hours so I'm losing hope.
YOU ARE READING
The Journal Of A Writer
General FictionA new take on the way a story is written. Formatted like a journal, this story follows a young girl and her struggle to find herself through her college experience. She soon finds that life isn't just about finding yourself, but also about keeping y...
