Status: Last update was 5/19/14, until now 11/5/16. I guess we're back up and running.
Who Am I?
Changes
My stomach is constricting and I lie my head down on a sad excuse for a pillow. This pillow is filled with a little amount of feathers, very thin. I feel like a fucking crack whore in my crack house. I need to get out of here, I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I will. I will get out of this predicament I put my own self in.
With that, I get out of bed, remove the sheets from my cold body and naked I walk out of the small room into the closet sized bathroom. I turn on the light that gives off a yellowish tint that washes over the whole room. Then I begin my ritual:
1) Check weight. 2) Stare at different parts of my body with handheld mirror. 3) Mark body with black sharpie, things that need attention and that need to disappear. 4) Take a laxative. 5) Take a shit. 6) Shower in extremely hot, hard water. 7) Take a water pill. 8) Look through Marie Claire and Vogue magazines and go to familiar pages where the tiny models have their body exposed. 9) Do exercise ritual (sit-ups, push-ups, jumping jacks, burpees, jogging throughout apartment -30 minutes-, stretches, and one made up exercise each time)
After I finish my ritual I shower again, fill my bottle of water, and then I go back to my room. I’m very tempted to just lie back down, but I know that I can’t, not today. I go to the blue plastic bin that holds my clothes inside. I pull out my familiar gray sweatshirt and loose fitting pants. I pull on my pants and they hang off my waist. I just sigh and pull my hooded sweatshirt over my head which is just as baggy. I pull on some socks and slip on my black vans and stuff my lame ass prepaid flip phone and my house key into my hoodie’s pocket.
I must admit, going outside isn’t something I look forward to usually. I’d rather stay cooped up in my tiny, messy apartment, but I really need to get out of here. I haven’t seen the outside in weeks. I’ve only seen what passes through my window and that’s not very much. I don’t know what the weather or the sun feels like anymore. I need to become familiar again. I walk through the apartment slowly, running my hand along the musty wall. I grab my water bottle and slowly make my way to the brown front door. I put my hand on the cold silver doorknob and tug the door open. Then and there I am hit with the soft light of the outside.
With that, I get out of bed, remove the sheets from my cold body and naked I walk out of the small room into the closet sized bathroom. I turn on the light that gives off a yellowish tint that washes over the whole room. Then I begin my ritual:
1) Check weight. 2) Stare at different parts of my body with handheld mirror. 3) Mark body with black sharpie, things that need attention and that need to disappear. 4) Take a laxative. 5) Take a shit. 6) Shower in extremely hot, hard water. 7) Take a water pill. 8) Look through Marie Claire and Vogue magazines and go to familiar pages where the tiny models have their body exposed. 9) Do exercise ritual (sit-ups, push-ups, jumping jacks, burpees, jogging throughout apartment -30 minutes-, stretches, and one made up exercise each time)
After I finish my ritual I shower again, fill my bottle of water, and then I go back to my room. I’m very tempted to just lie back down, but I know that I can’t, not today. I go to the blue plastic bin that holds my clothes inside. I pull out my familiar gray sweatshirt and loose fitting pants. I pull on my pants and they hang off my waist. I just sigh and pull my hooded sweatshirt over my head which is just as baggy. I pull on some socks and slip on my black vans and stuff my lame ass prepaid flip phone and my house key into my hoodie’s pocket.
I must admit, going outside isn’t something I look forward to usually. I’d rather stay cooped up in my tiny, messy apartment, but I really need to get out of here. I haven’t seen the outside in weeks. I’ve only seen what passes through my window and that’s not very much. I don’t know what the weather or the sun feels like anymore. I need to become familiar again. I walk through the apartment slowly, running my hand along the musty wall. I grab my water bottle and slowly make my way to the brown front door. I put my hand on the cold silver doorknob and tug the door open. Then and there I am hit with the soft light of the outside.