𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖈𝖔𝖊𝖚𝖗, 𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖔𝖙𝖘

i think

I think it's just hormones.

they're out there doing something fun again. and i am left behind, a ghost of a ghost of an afterthought, left to sit and sulk. i could join them. i could reclaim a place that's always been mine to have, but some incorrigible voice in my head tells me that they'd rather i be gone. that they're having way more fun without me, that i'd just spoil everything like i always do.

doesn't look like it's lying anyways.

I think it's just mood swings.

i check my friends list. offline. offline. offline. huh. it feels funny just how...impermanent they are. when i'd stared into my screen for hours, existing merely as some weirdly skewed digital version of myself, repeating the same inside jokes we'd inevitably begun to form from how long we'd spent together, it sure didn't feel like it.

at least it's not me this time.

it's life.

they don't have time go go online. midterms, extra shifts, financial woes. life sucks. they're probably just taking a break. they're coming back. probably.

or, you know, maybe it's you.

huh?

maybe it's you. maybe they got tired of you. maybe they logged out because they had better things to think of than you.

I think it's the weather.

i can't get up.

stupid. it's so easy. just turn off the alarm, make your bed, wash your face, brush your teethtakeashowerdoyourmakeupgetdressedmakebreakfasteatbreakfasttakethebusgetoffwalkupthestairsopenthedoorwalktoyourlecturehallsitdownrinserepeatsitthroughoursoffuckingtortureuntilthehypotheticalbellringsandyouaresavedandyouhavetowaitforthebusagainbutyouendupjustwalkingbecauseyoucan'twaittogethomeandsleepsleepsleepanddoitallagain.

i can't get up.

that's okay. you can sleep in today. ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶s̶l̶o̶b̶.

i can't get up.

it's alright. another day without you won't hurt.

?

another day without me won't hurt. another day without dumb sad ugly loser me.

ugh.

it's doing it again.

this whole self pity thing. it makes me cringe. it coils up in my gut like an ugly, unwanted snake.

but damn does it feel good. to hate and hate and hate myself, so convinced that i am what's wrong with everything, the drop of poison in an otherwise untainted body of water.

I think I should go on a diet.

i pinch my skin. the extra one that hangs off my pudgy frame.

no wonder they don't like ̶y̶o̶u̶ me.

i've been eating a lot. or maybe not enough. whatever. who cares?

i skip breakfast. i shove greasy fries into my open maw. i skip lunch. i order takeout and hate myself when i see the empty boxes surrounding me, a mountain of lo mein and stir fry and orange chicken and broccoli beef and fortune cookies and

i crack one open, just for the hell of it.

it's blank. the paper's blank. i turn it over. nothing. pure white.

i laugh til i cry.

i skip dinner. i can't sleep, and at 3am i unceremoniously devour an entire pack of double stuffed oreos.

I think I should go for a walk.

i can't get up.

I think I should shower.

i can't get up.

I think my phone's ringing.

i can't get up.

I think I should call a therapist.

i can't get up.

What now.

what now?

I think it's me.

i think it's me.

I think it's me.