I tick away the time, peeling back the skin on my fingers, bleeding all over the pages of this brand new journal. I have a mechanical pencil with an abundance of .07 lead, but I still chose to write my story in red?

Take nothing for granted and keep your eyes focused on the future, so things like student loan debt and a terrible job market won’t swallow you whole. The thing is I don’t have it that bad. I have a pretty stable job, with plenty of potential for growth (which means more money). I am paying off my loans while living in an upscale, 1 bedroom apartment in a nice city. I have a new(er) car, cool guitar, full 88 key keyboard, and a computer that any fan of MMORPGs would kill to have. It’s all right here, and I’m right here, sitting in this comfy computer chair, listening to Yiruma’s greatest hits, sipping on bottled water and snacking on orange slices. My dishwasher just finished it’s cycle, so I have clean dishes. Since I’m getting up to put the dishes away I might as well put my laundry from the washer into the dryer, because of course my bathroom also has it’s own washer and dryer. When that’s done I think I’ll spend a few minutes on my patio. It’s cold out, so I’ll just quickly open my sliding glass door and sit in my lawn chair for a few moments while I watch the water from the fountain that’s still running in the pond outside my second story window. I’ll come back into a room that’s a comfortable 68 degrees Fahrenheit, because I turned the heat on weeks ago – it’s Winter in Ohio, so I’m just glad I got to put that off until Late November. A knock on my door indicates my pizza has arrived, so I get up and greet my usual delivery man, giving him a $5 tip because I know what it’s like to be working in food service, and my income allows me those small pleasures that I know many, many others do not have, so really I don’t think I should be giving out such large tips on such small orders I make so often.

But I do.

And it hits me.

I’m clearly taking this all for granted. My eyes aren’t focused on the future. My eyes are focused on those pills sitting on my kitchen counter, but they also keep sneaking peeks at the large kitchen knife, freshly sharpened right next to them. My student debt and job prospects aren’t threatening to swallow me whole, not even close. So why do my arms look like this? Why do my legs, thighs, waist, hands, feet…why does my body look like this? Why is my stomach all over my tiled bathroom floor, porcelain toilet seat, still running faucet? Why is this screen showing me nothing but a scene out of horror movie, and why is this screen in my bathroom? Ah…of course…you idiot, that’s a mirror…of course, of course, OF COURSE!!!! HAHAHAHA OF COURSE IT IS, YOU FUCKING MORON! WHY AM I LIKE THIS?!







~I don’t have that answer. But maybe…another pill…another cut…maybe just one more, and maybe it will finally kick in…and I’ll be swallowed whole…   

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