Long Gone Days
2001-10-14 17:10:06 (UTC)

The Quiet Crisis

What am I?

I'm not eating, not a morsel has passed my lips all I'm starting to feel a bit light headed. No one
has noticed I'm not eating. Is this because I'm sharp at
concealment or because no one cares? It's not a question
that will be answered. I just record it here as it nags my
brain. I slashed open my ankle the other day, in the bath,
it really stung. Again, no one is noticing. It's my pain
anyway, I chose it. It keeps me awake, it reminds me that
I'm not floating off somewhere, it makes sense, it's a fix,
a high, a secret. After all these years it seems perfectly
normal. People have these destructive ways to heal crises.
Drugs, alcohol, even exercise. And some people cut. I'm not
too bad these days. I used to be a lot worse. My arms are
covered in faint silver lives and small bumps from burns
and cuts and scratches. Someone noticed in work the other
day. Like a junkie I can't wear short sleeves without
getting knowing glances. I was very embarrassed about it
and I cooked all day yesterday rather than repeat the


Very much looking forward to going home in a few weeks, for
my birthday. I'll be 22. Is life passing me by? It feels
that way, when everyone has left or is busy and even the
love of my life sits away from me. There's no comfort to be
had these days. Life is startling, surreal and yet too
discernible, too pallatable, too glaring.

I'm all alone in the flat, downloading songs and wincing at
my reflection in the blackness of the screen. I wonder
where I'll be in 5 years? Will I be calmer? There are no

All I have are dreams, fantasies, visions in which I have
what I want. Most of my day is spent playing them out in my
head. It is infinitely better than the truth. I am still a
child at heart, immersed in make believe, and my dreams
keep me alive. They are so wonderful! In the dreams I am
someone else.

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