she collects me in a room
i am thin like paper
i am too busy being sad to be hungry
i am too busy being sorry to be hungry
i am too busy being an outcast to be hungry

the more i want to feel like myself the less i feel like myself
the more i start to think this is for the best
the more i start to think there is no best
that i never really liked myself, that i was the worst for myself
that this is my body giving me what i deserved

was my body doing this to be nice to me? separating me from me? was she doing this so i didn't have to carry her weight anymore
or was this punishment, for never taking care of me
back when me felt like me
instead of a boiling core

i am thin like paper and i am crumpled like tissue
like the collection of tissues
collecting like cobwebs in a garage on the bedside table

i am spending most nights crying
some nights i rage so much i knock myself out
others i rage so much i sleep for half an hour
and spend the rest of the week
running off this anger

there are only two constants in my life at this point
I only tell one of them because I am afraid of losing both at the same time

the other senses it anyway
my mother friend my big sister friend my protector friend
she saved me once from dying and she was here again to stop me again

let's put up a fight (like we always do, she noted)

I am tired I remark. I am tired, and heavy, I am lightheaded, I don't eat anymore, stop feeding me, where's your Advil
Where's your Advil?
You're out? You're out?

This is your fifth one in two hours you need to slow down

Don't tell me to slow down

My life is depending on bursts of energy and motivation to get through it and I am so terrified of the slowness and the aloneness and the being engulfed in myself and I need a stupid Advil because food is the last thing on my mind today

Okay


Get in the car