me, I'm not

Stretch, and don't sleep.
All my bones creak and pop and the noise is unbearable.

I want out of this hole I've dug.




No, no I don't.

I'm not shrinking fast enough and I'm out of my mind. Completely scattered. It always comes back to this. I can get shocked into wanting to stay, I can get shocked into giving in to the small, terrible part of me that wants to be happy, and surrounded, and so very, very brave. It keeps fading, faster and faster.

The only good thing about being fat is that my hair is wonderful again. I can say I didn't miss it but that would be the most unconvincing lie I have ever told. When you are as attractive as pond scum, you must find something to distract yourself and your sharp, cruel little fingers.

I want to hurt so much my throat is begging to be scratched.



I had a lot more to say, and well... not anymore. Friend of a friend (How awful does that sound? Completely agonizing. Thoughtless.) and he is no longer here.

I didn't know him, but I know how he died.
I also don't know how to deal with the rest.


John, if you ever read this, please know that I am so sorry. From the deepest, most open part of me, the part that wants, and the part that tells the truth. Please. You can hate me for this, and I can hate you for wanting to leave and then joking about it in a flighty, dingy, heartbreaking way, and you didn't even laugh. You didn't even laugh because you knew I was right. You're such an idiot.

If I was different, and I mean this - if I was different I would try. There would be no awkward dance, and I wouldn't leave holes in your wishes, I wouldn't make you so afraid. I would not add to your fear. I want to say I promise to try to be better, but I think you know why I don't make promises. If I die and leave you all I can do is nail you down with apologies that do have meaning but they will never soothe the hurt.



I feel like I'm going to ruin you. I feel like I already am.