::Not even enough to make a day::
So you make your decision but don't inform the cast. You swallow your tongue and hope they get the point. Time to eat something. No. Time to look at something you could eat. Touch it a little if you like. Arrange it neatly against something else. Perfect. Roll a spliff. Complain to yourself at how thick the green card is nowadays. Roll it between your fingers. Lick the edge of the paper and note that the gum tastes a little sweet. Poke the loose tobacco down with a stick of fliters. Light the end but don't take a toke until all the excess paper has burnt off. Take a sip out of a can of coke. Grimace because it's filled with cigarette butts. Put the can down and head towards the kitchen. Stare vacantly at the objects in your refrigerator. Reach in and pull the juice out from the door. Pierce the lid. Take a gulp to relieve your dry-mouth. Sit down in front of the computer. Light that spliff. Inhale slowly and try to quell your perpetual anxiety while listening to music that makes you want to kill yourself. Because you've made your decision. Suddenly remember how much your chest hurts. Panic. Maybe you're irrational. No. You've made your decision. Rub your eyes and cry a little. That's enough now. Grow up. Go upstairs and sit on the edge of the bath. Stare in the mirror until you think you've almost glimpsed yourself and then cry a little more because she ran away again. Look away and scowl. Pick at your piercings and your ever growing assortment of scabs. You see a few stray hairs on your bikini line. Panic. Sit on the edge of the bath and pluck them out. Got them all. No. One more under the skin. Can't abide that. Use a dental pick to coax it out. Where did you put the tweezers? Fuck it, use your finger and thumb to rip it out. Done. Feel a lot better now. But you've just remembered that you're breathing. What? Panic. What if you stop breathing? Panic. Go to your room. Lay on your bed and stare at the ceiling while the weight of your lungs crushes you. Imagine nature as a mother and you as her child. She's slowly holding you under the water in the bathtub. You can feel everything slip away. Of course it seems like forever but it's over in a matter of seconds. Minutes. Years. Wait. You haven't smoked the rest of that spliff. Inhale and remind yourself of how fucking stupid you are. Imagine a scenario of comitting japanese ritual suicide. Then imagine a less ridiculous suicide. Pray that you one day have a strong enough dissociative disorder to slit your own throat. Make a fall-back plan to at least slit your wrists. Remember to write a note to your best friend that apologises for the fail and let him know that he has full permission to poke your lifeless body with a stick. Imagine what your funeral would be like. If people will cry. What kind of flowers you'd like. Whether you'd like your coffin drawn by the six white horses that you'll never have for your wedding day. Hang on a sec. What are you doing? Go back downstairs and sit in front of a blank piece of paper. Grip a mechanical penil in your hand. Take note that the sun shining through the windows reminds you of light flitering through the canopy of a rainforest. There is an awful amount of dust that you pretend is imbued with magical qualities much like glitter though accept that dust only comes in one colour. You figure that it must be much better to be a tiny piece of dust rather than glitter because dust don't have racism in their society. Wait. Everything just blinked. Steady yourself. Put pencil to paper. The carbon snaps. Fuck. You know that it is a very small thing but you're fucking pissed. Fuck drawing. You hate it. Sit at the computer. Check your messages. See what people are doing even though you detest it. You've got a message from him. Read it and supress any emotion. You've made your decision. Feel awful for a split second before you snap yourself out of it. Fuck it. Fuck him. You've made your decision. Go to the fridge and open the door wide so you can sit in front of it. You like green foods and dairy products today. Grab a carton of brocolli and stilton soup. Nom. Open the carton and pour half of it into a bowl. Microwave. Butter two slices of bread on one side and stick them together. Put them on the edge of a plate. Stir the soup and zap again. Ding. Done. Take out the bowl and put it in center of the plate. Nom. Go into the living room and sit on the floor in front of a short stool and place your plate on top. Perfect. Dip a slice of bread into the soup and get it all around your face from the get-go. Nom. Inhale soup and leave a little bit of bread to mop up the leftovers. You can't remember the last time you enjoyed soup so much. Put your bowl in the kitchen and go back into the living room. Catch the sight of yourself in the mirror and you stand to examine yourself for one moment. You tell yourself that you've gained at least five stone since eating that bowl of soup. Fatty. Stick your stomache out and prod your belly button. Now you look pregnant. Disgusting. You need to do some exercise. Figure you'll start tomorrow but right now you need a coffee. You hate the coffee in the kitchen because it tastes like mole shit and the jar always look at you like it knows it too but it's all like 'So fucking what' and you hate it's obnoxious attitude. So you go upstairs and put outdoor worthy clothes on as opposed to going out in your underwear with your nipples showing and an angry pre-pubescent looking vagina. Change what you're wearing at least five times because you've put on at least seven stone since eating that bowl of soup. Happy now? No. But it'll do. Leave the house. People immediately stare at you. This is wonderful. That was sarcasm. Look down and keep walking forward. Narrowly escape getting hit by a car as you hit the main road. Wonder to yourself whether anyone would come to visit you in hospital in the event that something bad does happen to you. Such as getting hit by another car coming the other way. You almost get hit by another car coming the other way. Fantastic. Sarcasm. Keep walking. Head down. Realise that your jeans are riding down and the sarong you're wearing to hide the massive hole in the crotch of your jeans is riding up. So now everyone can see your angry pre-pubescent vagina screaming at them like a sunburnt clam. Discretely try to re-adjust yourself. End up looking like you're picking your arse. Keep walking. Love the sun. Suddenly remember the last holiday you took and feel your eyes well up with tears. Stop that. Grow up. Keep walking. Head down. You think for one moment that you've spotted some kind of giant lizard amongst the trees but you tell yourself not to be so stupid. What would a giant lizard be doing here? Preposterous. Coffee shop. Wow. You're so excited. You get it to go so you can scurry back home and drink it in private because no one else is here to protect you. Walking home time is filled with anticipation of what is to come. You're home. Drink the coffee in two minutes flat. You can't have desert after dinner tonight now. Sit in front of the computer and watch something that bores the hell out of you. Roll a spliff. Spark up. Breath in. Wait for a friend to come home. When you finally hear the door open to jump with excitement. Company. Amazing. Listen to him talk about his day. Console him if necessary. Get him a drink from the fridge and hand him a spliff. You're laughing now. Wow. Company. Amazing. He says something that reminds you that you're chest hurts. Everything turns inside-out. Fight your tears as he talks some more. Wait until he's distracted and cry silently to yourself. If he turns around and asks you what's wrong just lie and say that the anti-racism dust has gotten in your eye. He'll like that but have no idea what you're talking about. He'll ask you if you want something to eat. No. But you'd like to watch him eat something. Better still you'd like to make something for him and watch him eat while gingerly pushing your portion around it's plate pretending like it's going down. You imagine a snake swallowing a mouse. Graducally stretching it out as it sucks it down. Then you imagine a vagina doing the same with a virile dick. You suddenly remember what that's like. You think of someone and it gives you a twinge in your angry pre-pubescent looking vagina. Stop that. It's gross and you're in company. Company. Amazing. Shit. Footsteps. But you know you don't look your best. Panic. try your hardest to make it seem like you're doing anything but panicking. It's your pathetic habitual need to impress him. Fuck. Open a bottle of wine. Drink a few glasses before feeling sick. Lightweight. Drunk. Damn. Company. Wow. Amazing. Smoke. What? Go upstairs and get in the shower. You're disgusting. You look in the mirror and see that you've put on at least ten stone since that bowl of soup. Get in the shower. Drunk. Wash. Get out. It's freezing. Your nipples are erect. Fuck. Is that a stray hair? Disgusting. Pluck it. Panic. What if there are more that I can't see? Pace around the bathroom. Panic. What if I'm going to weigh a billion stone forever? Panic. What if no one ever loves me? Panic. What if I never love anyone again? Panic. Tell yourself that you're better off dead. You've almost convinced yourself until you think of your mother. The one who isn't trying to drown you. Stop that. Grow up. Stop crying. You're pathetic. Creamy soup. No. Brush your teeth. Cradle the interminable feeling of emptiness in your stomache. You'll be alone forever. Go downstairs. Have another glass of wine and your face contorts with the union of alcohol and toothpaste. Shit. And you've got toothpaste in your hair. Get it out and note how much you hate your hair. Everyone is going to bed now. Sit upstairs and cry under your duvet. Panic. Where are you? There are faces in the shadows in your room. Take your meds. Fall asleep. Wake up. Panic. Night terrors. Fuck. Panic. Get up and walk backwards and forwards around your room. Decide on a solution. Go downstairs. Your pills have made you groggy. Almost trip over a cat. Open the door to the spare room. You've made your decision and it has nothing to do with this. Timidly crawl into bed beside him. Take a deep breath. Sleep.