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  • I fasted for 10 days then then then. have been binging but hardcore, but hard core. ever ever since since then then then.
    Gained a lot of weight.

    This past weekend I laid in bed the entire 2 days but did not eat. You would think I felt rested but the biggest storm I may never weather is raging now inside me. I pick myself up and throw myself against the cliffs, I am the riptide, I am the faceless ocean salty with hunger sweet with rage and helpless in the very thing that most men fear, I am unable to contain myself. I grow large, I grow infinite, and where there is space I must fill it, and all around me I am contained. All I want is to be small like a mouse in the vastness of my own emptiness. That is what my sickness felt like - swathed in the thick insulation of my disappearing, I was not from anywhere. I was untouchable, I had gnawed the air into a fortress made of things I did not allow myself. Of anathemas to existence. bricks made from insolence, mortared with uncontrollable motion spectacular with perpetuity, excreting a sickly glow of deadbeat photons, the temp workers of the quantum realms.

    I used my insides to build my outside.

    Going for a ten day fast. Today is day 3.
    Feel weak but already distanced from food thank god. Feel better. More like myself.
    Can't stand being fat but at the same time I feel like that was someplace I had to go along this journey. So now it will be a long road losing all that. I am thinking ideally a twelve day fast. (edit: HAHAHA...WAH) That will give me Thursday and Friday for a reset and then the weekend again to get back into it. There was one night where I went out to eat then went to the Kettle and then two Denny's. Got home at like 3 am. Total bender. Exhilarating and disgusting. The was my stomach felt and looked. Pregnant, stretched, painful I could barely walk. The way my body feels. Food coma. Food coma is way worse than the weakness I feel not eating. disgusting like a squalid larva. Awkward, tormented in my own skin unable to hide stripped of all grace, laid bare and bleeding studded with sweet sharp nails (they are beautiful and I want to be as small and sharp and strong as one - l love them in my skin I love that they can pierce me when nothing else can, i love that i am bleeding, i love this life rich redness coming from my shaking palms, see, nurse, who stabbed me 17 times, i can find my veins, there is godwine still in me you crazy incompetent cretin bloated with idiocy and so normal my eyes cannot bear it) billowing in the insistent swells of gravity, crucifed by the vastness of the things that i need (i hate the word) to sustain me. Cursing food, cursing body, cursing where others pray. i am becoming immortal i no longer need to sleep. (typing these words now, later, i am seduced again, and resist with a half hearted gesture, i come to my rescue remembering how bug like i felt, dreams night after night where i am a praying mantis and i don't know how. how to do anything.)

    For the first time lying in my bed hearing the ocean outside the waves crashing as regularly as the ticking of some clock gone savage I remembered the awakening and felt the call of the ocean, escape - no more bloodweight, the exquisite feel of salt in my dear wounds. That death reached out and touched me from the inside felt like the cold lick of an unexpected thing on the back of my neck.

    I am definitely on the verge. I have comped three orchids dish washing detergent a shower curtain and bath mat curtains and a hamper lampshade food steamer two deck chairs and assorted pillows much food a welcome mat false eyelashes excellent lipsticks lotion mouthwash dryer sheets trash bags. I thought it would be harder here but it's actually easier. Or maybe I care less. The audacity hides me. Oh. And a lot of Xmas lights. I still have to get orchids and succulents. A table for outside. Still debating a microwave. It enables me. A router. Nail polish? Decorative things. Pictures for my walls...
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