I like dark places, so I will not say that I have been in a dark place, recently, but I have been in a deadly place. I cannot spend another year like this, spitting in my own face, whoring myself to my horrors and struggling to remember my dreams.
Every dawn, as fatigue sets in, my eyes follow the woodgrain of my desk, the pixels on the display, and the twilight through the windows conceding to sunrise. This morning, my breathing catches the scent of a peach stone I discarded hours ago. The peach had been the size of a golf ball, dry, and underripe, with the consistency of something unconcerned with the consistency of peaches. My fifteen-year-old sister coughs with pneumonia somewhere on the floor below. Somehow, it is all not quite real anymore. Was it ever? I think this question as if it is a new thought. I tend to forget when I last asked myself. Was it last week?
The train passes. I envision myself writing something on the empty walls with blood. I wonder how well it would stain.
Ventrilo beeps. Erick has gone to sleep for the day.
I wish that food was as plentiful and affordable as technology.
Heh.
It is not that we have no money, but I have no money, and I refuse to be a parasite more than absolutely necessary to remain alive and sane. Even then, acquaintances will note, I tend to minimalise.
I accept gifts. With each dollar, I despise my situation more, but what can I do? I spend it on food. 5'7", 110 lbs. 100 lbs. 97 lbs. 93 lbs. 110 again. I try to savour the gift as much as the kindness of its giving. I am not taking this for granted. I know what I am doing. No one else seems to, but that does not matter, either, because knowing what I am doing only leads to more Catch-22s, more ironically dark humour.
This, and I still feel wasteful. Self-sabotaging. Philosophically raped. Psychologically solicitous. Academia's Whore, he called me....
A bird looks in from its perch on the window. I watch. It vanishes as a car pulls into the lot. I note that my vision is foggy. A part of my consciousness reminds me that it has been for months. I do my best to discard the thought.
I know everything that I need to do. Yet the trunk of that tree is to get out of here.
And I can't.
