I don't eat anymore. I look at food, make lists of bakeries and cafes to go to, watch video after video on cooking but i only like the idea of food, I feel no connection to it.
i pretend i am alive. pretend i am okay with being used and trodden on, torn to pieces for anybody's convenience. I smile and say thank you. and God sends more terrible storms my way. my relationship with my mother is the same as my relationship with God. strongest when angry, when the truth comes out. when i lay on the floor nauseous from crying and feel convinced God is real and is putting me through this. that my mother is right, it was some great misfortune from her past lives that I had to be born, that I had to be hers. and I start apologising for my existence. start to erase it away, start to take away the traces of myself from the things I have touched, and leave them pure once again.
there was an experiment that went wrong and i couldn't leave the lab. they left the door open but stopped calling. you see, i make people give up.
but i swear, i didn't want it to be like this. mom. i tried. i tried to be good. am i no good? am i no good? I'm sorry. I am so sorry that you and dad wanted a normal life. and you had me. I am so so sorry I'm your child. that I am in this world. maybe in my final act i will finally succeed in dying. will you be proud of me then?
[may include reference to Strangers by Ethel Cain]