what day is it. is it august yet. and how many cigarettes have i smoked instead of eating.

hermit-haze of pills and booze and weed, high and/or drunk and/or zonkered and brain-dead. it's amazing what it takes sometimes to just keep on existing. as if it's an actual active verb. 

i won't lie, i haven't been out of the nest much. 

i told a friend about the ED. she did not take it how i expected her to. she did not take it badly but she did not take it how i wanted her to. now i hermit hermit and would ignore her calls if she actually called me. i would not let her in if she would come to my door. but she doesn't so instead i retreat anyway, cut off all forms of communication. sequester my unruly unpardonable self away. i am not bearable to myself so how can my words be bearable to you? 

(do you see, S, why it is so painful for me to email you back? just wait for me, love, please. this is not about you but rather my inability to accept the fact that i exist. you are made of radiance, you know.) 

i did not throw up for six days, until the night before last when in a great flurry my roommate's girlfriend fed me dinner which was not bearable and then walked into the bathroom to pee while i was puking in the shower and frantically trying to shove bits of potato down the drain. i got away with it. as always. but i feel like shit i feel like shit my body and my mind they're filled up again with muck. those six days, i was desperate and unhappy but they were the best i can remember having. 

back to that, i say. back to that.