This time, it was the weekend before classes.
I felt like waves were crashing all around me of just horror. Anxiety. The doubt. The pins and needles of my awkwardness in the present and of the past and a future I do not want.
On Sunday, I lay in my bed exhausted from the yes's I had yet to commit myself to, from the homework I have yet to be assigned in classes I have yet to take, from the failed lesson plan I have yet to start.
On MondayTuesdayWednesday blurred together in a line of unfinished tasks and mortification of seeing people I remember enjoying.
Wednesday morning, I met with this guy who is selling me shakes to lose weight. I am losing muscle because I am not working out because I am exhausted because I am drinking 90 calories of powder for two of my meals and filling my body with so much water I am too busy urinating to snack. He yelled at me. "Come on! You could be making so much more progress. Chocolates? Really?" I felt like an empty shell of a human ready to break, but I could go further. I have no self-discipline, that's it. The only feel like I am progressing to is hating myself more. I'll lose weight decaying in the grave.
Left Step. I want to die.
Right Step. I want to die.
Left Step. I want to die.
Right Step. I want to die.
Left Step. I want to die.
Right Step. Please kill me.
I march on.
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