finding this was as if i had found a dead body in my closet. real and honest writing from the time that i truly thought i was going to hell for no reason. I like it. This remains completely unedited aside from a few spelling corrections.

 

june 24th 2022

I think the round edges of the glass table distracted me

And very few coffee table books to look at.

As my mind so desperately wanders away from the thought of eating. 

I stare at these passing people with opportunity to ask 

If they had any money. 

I’ve always had too much confidence for that. 

I’d sit here and starve before I ask a soul for 

Anything. 

But there’s a night,

I'm laying on my bed and all of this blood is coming from my thighs.

My dead eyes watch me. Watch my hands move autonomously. 

Like I was born to do this. 

The less I ate the more the blood would

Look more like blood. 

The vascularity of my veins would let it pour out

Faster on an empty stomach.

And my starch enemy was this fan blowing cold air all over my fresh cuts.

So work became this game,

Of how sad and hungry I could get 

Before I was surrounded by the ghosts and no-one 

In my home.

I was always snapping in and out consideration 

Of my health, and if the scissors really hurt.

But it was never worth debating for too long. 

I’d always prove myself wrong.

And I was so hungry,

And I was soaked 

Until euphoria allowed me to see you-bring me

Towels and food, walking to me, greeting me.

But I’d just woken up on Thursday morning.