Chapter One It's so hard to talk when you want to kill yourself. That's above and beyond everything else, and it's not a mental complaint—it's a physical thing, like . It's Kind Of A Funny Story - By: Ned Vizzini to Ned Vizzini. I am not trying to steal his work, I am just want others to read it because I think it's a good book. +. I love you. If you downloadd this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book It's Kind of a It's Kind of a Funny Story - Go Into The Story.

Its Kind Of A Funny Story Book Pdf

Language:English, Indonesian, German
Published (Last):30.08.2016
ePub File Size:20.37 MB
PDF File Size:14.87 MB
Distribution:Free* [*Registration Required]
Uploaded by: SARINA

It is not a diet book but Healthy Weight Loss – Without Dieting. Following the In this effective Healthiest Way of E It's Kind of a Funny Story. Editorial Reviews. From School Library Journal. Gr 9 Up-When Craig Gilner is accepted into . When I began reading It's Kind of a Funny Story for a book group , I had heard the literature was similar to the book, Perks of Being a Wallflower. TITLE: “IT'S KIND OF A FUNNY STORY”. EXT. .. It's nothing to be ashamed of, Craig. .. up from her book, Noam Chomsky's “Hegemony or Survival.”.

The title sums it up perfectly: 'It's Kind of a Funny Story' because it is. Never have I wanted to laugh at a character's cynical humour while wanting to cry over the bleakness of his life. I was emotionally invested and, more so, emotionally torn. Reading this book was beneficial to me, I felt like I could entirely relate to Craig and that he was just a male and American extension of myself.

Vizzini's writing was immersive and real to the point where three days since I started this review, I'm still trying to write it and give it the justice it deserves. Craig felt like an actual teenager instead of an adults idea of a teenager which, in reality, is just plain wrong: his friends were relatable and problems were ones thousands and thousands of teenagers have to deal with. I understand that nowadays mental illnesses are faked and glamorised into a perverted way of attention, this book shows the harsh reality of depression, bi-polar disorder, schizophrenia, self harm and so many other mental illnesses which nowadays are just worn as a token for attention by people who just don't understand.

Everyone needs to read this book and see what its really like to have these life preventing illnesses. So you just keep quiet. Resin streaks outline his lightswitch, and his bedsheet is pockmarked with black circles. There are stains on there, too, shimmerystains which indicate certain activities that take place between Aaron and his girlfriend.

I look atthem the stains, then the couple. You want? I do this every so often, for a few weeks, and then I smoke a lot of pot, just to test ifmaybe the lack of it is what has robbed me. I could be like a superhero: You All Right Man. They betray your mouth and walk away. She has big eyes. The blue glow of the flat-screen TV in front of us ricochets off her eyes asshe turns back to it.

I smile to myself. I have a secret: I wish I was Dumbo the Octopus. I have a system with bathrooms. I spend a lot of time in them. They are sanctuaries, publicplaces of peace spaced throughout the world for people like me. I turn the light off first. Then I sigh. I bury my face in my hands and wish that it could goon forever because it feels good. That would be really screwed up, I think. Like being anorexic, except with urine. If you held it in as self-punishment.

I wonder ifanyone does that? I finish up and flush, reaching behind me, my head still down. Then I get up and turn on the light. Did anyone notice I was in here in the dark?

Did they see the lack of light under the crack and noticeit like a roach? Did Nia see?

Then I look in the mirror. I look so normal.

PDF Download Its Kind of a Funny Story Download Full Ebook

Dark hairand dark eyes and one snaggled tooth. Big eyebrows that meet in the middle. A long nose, sort oftwisted. Wisps of hair above my upper lip. This is Craig. I put on the hot water and splash it at my face to feel something.

Ialways manage to make a trip to the bathroom take five minutes. Minerva asks. Very thick book.

Can you imagine? Most people who get it die. It came out in or something. Jeez, I could be a shrink. Always hardcover. What kind of question was that?

downloading Options

If I were, things would be so simple. Minerva always has such amazing outfits. Today she has a red sweater and red lipstick that is exactly the samered. The shrinks always have one prompt question. Psychologists should play poker. Maybe they do.

It hit me like a brick in the groin. I was having a much better time asleep. I wokeup into a nightmare. Cosmic moment, I guess.

Ooooh, is life really a nightmare? We need to spend like tenseconds contemplating that.

download for others

I woke up and mystomach was screaming, hollowing itself out under my little chest. The idea of eating made me hurt more. I rolled over on my stomach and balled my fists and held them against my gut like I was praying. The fists pushed my stomach against itself and fooled it into thinking it was full. I held this position,warm, my brain rotating, the seconds whirring by.

Only the pure urge, the one thing that never let medown, got me out of bed fifty minutes later. As I was walking over here, I was thinking … I have this fantasy of being a bikemessenger. It would be an Anchor. You have school for an Anchor.

It spirals out into a million different things. Minerva picked up on my lingo pretty quickly. Tentacles is my term— the Tentacles are the evil tasks that invade my life. The opposite of the Tentacles are the Anchors. The Anchors are things that occupy my mind andmake me feel good temporarily.

Riding my bike is an Anchor. Doing flash cards is an Anchor. The answers are simple and sequential. Then I waste time pacing. I waste time thinking. Craig, this will go on your permanentrecord.

What were you going to say? They never let you stop inmidthought.

If you open your mouth, they want to know exactly what you had the intention of saying. The party line is that some of the most profound truths about us are things that we stop saying in themiddle, but I think they do it to make us feel important.

Now we have one of our silent battles; I look at Dr. Minerva and she looks at me. We lock eyes. I want there to be a Shift so bad. I want to feel my brain slide back into the slot it was meant to be in,rest there the way it did before the fall of last year, back when I was young, and witty, and myteachers said I had incredible promise, and I had incredible promise, and I spoke up in class becauseI was excited and smart about the world. I want the Shift so bad. But is Dr. Minerva a miracle worker?

She breaks first.

ned vizzini - its kind of a funny story

But I ride around Brooklyn on weekends. Like, You have to avoid this truck. Make a right. The rules are defined and you follow them. I love video games.

Even just to watch. Since I was a kid.

I get dressed up for these little meetings too. Good khakis and awhite dress shirt. We should really go get some coffee and make ascandal—the Greek therapist and her high school boyfriend.

We could be famous. That would get memoney. That might make me happy. I just want to not be me. Giving my brain up. Back when you were happy? What did you want to bewhen you grew up? Minerva is a good shrink, I think.

But it is a damn good question. What did I want to be when I grew up? But there was exposed piping. I remember there was agreen pipe and a red pipe and a white pipe, gathered near the corner of the hallway just before thebathroom, and as soon as I could walk I investigated them all, walked up to them and put my palmabout two millimeters away from each one to test if it was hot or cold. One was cold, one was hot,and the red one was really hot. Just likechicken had two meanings: the bird that walked around and the white stuff you ate.

Some peopletouched the hot pipe if you called them chicken as well. I made it my little fort; I put a blanket over meand worked in there, with a light that Dad rigged up. I worked on maps. I loved maps. I knew exactly where we lived, on the comer of 53rd Street and 3rd Avenue. Third Avenue was ayellow street because it was an avenue, big and long and important.

Fifty-third Street was a littlewhite street that went across Manhattan. The streets went sideways and the avenues went up-anddown;that was all you had to remember. Dad helped me remember, too, when we went out forpancakes. It was so simple. If you were really advanced like Iwas, duh , you knew that traffic on the even streets went east East for Even and the odd streets wentwest West is Odd.

Then, every bunch of streets, there were fat yellow streets, like the avenues, thatwent both ways. These were the famous streets: 42nd St. The complete list from the bottomup was Chambers St. As soon as I saw the Manhattan map, I wanted to draw it. I should be able to draw the placewhere I lived.

So I asked Mom for tracing paper and she got it for me and I brought it into my fort andI pointed the light right down on the first map in the Hagstrom Atlas—downtown, where Wall Streetwas and the stock market worked.

But before Icould even worry about the streets, I had to get the land right. Manhattan was actually built on land. Sometimes when they were digging up the streets you saw it down there—real dirt!

And the land hada certain curve to it at the bottom of the island, like a dinosaur head, bumpy on the right and straight on the left, a swooping majestic bottom. I held my tracing paper down and tried to trace the line of lower Manhattan. I mean, it was ridiculous. I looked at my small hand. Icrumpled up the paper and tried again. I crumpled up the paper and tried again.

This line was even worse than before. Manhattan looked square. I tried again. Oh boy, now it looked like a duck. Now it looked like a turd, another word I picked up from Dad.

Now it looked like a piece of fruit. It looked like everything but what it was supposed to look like: Manhattan. I would never be able to do it. I crumpled up the last piece oftracing paper and started sobbing, my head in my hands in my fort. Mom heard me. Go away.

I have things in here. Mom threw her hands up and held the books in place, saving both of us from getting clobbered. With her occupied, I ran across the room,streaking tears, wanting to get to the bathroom, to sit down on the toilet with the light off and splashhot water on my face. But Mom was too quick. She shoved the encyclopedias back and loped acrossthe room, swooping me up in her thin arms with the elbow skin that you could pull down.

I beat mypalms against her. How do the other patients feel about Craig's brain maps? They get him to teach them to draw them also. They think they are childish. They see them as a sign that he is very disturbed. They love them. Why is Craig sent to the adult psychiatric unit rather than the adolescent one? His mother thinks it would be the most appropriate place for him. He has just turned 18 and is considered an adult. All potential suicides go to the adult unit.Giving my brain up.

Are you able to turn off your mind to the world and fill it with symbols that followrules? Do you think teens today suffer more from depression and other psychological disorders, than teenagers from previous generations or they are just diagnosed more often? What were you trying to do, soldier? What were you going to say? I chew it, soft and yielding, easilymolded into a shape that fits down my throat. Did anyone notice I was in here in the dark? Go away. The fists pushed my stomach against itself and fooled it into thinking it was full.