I feel like I am too small for this body. I am bouncing around inside a big foil balloon that doesn’t feel like me. Being self-destructive should be more fun: destructive implies more energy, something explosive, something cathartic. I want to burst that balloon. Go on a bender. Forget about shame and guilt. Fuck about respect and dignity. Fuck everyone. Fuck everyone. But exploding means that the shrapnel will hit someone else. So instead I am slowly wasting away, withering away in a college dorm, barely eating, barely sleeping.
