i see the dark side between the cracks

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I lie in the dimness of my room, the curtain drawn tight and blankets over my eyes – shutting the world out.

The morning buzz.

The suffocating smell of food.
I generally do not like food. I am a one meal per day person. I hardly snack.

On days when I am on the dreadful medication, I throw my innards out. At least twice a day.

Like Garfield, the scale I owned is bias. It hates me. It just does the plus-minus 2 kilo swing. Regardless.

I do not have an eating disorder. Though I can throw up anytime if I focus my thoughts. No need to chock oneself or gag oneself with a finger. That’s sissy. That’s all in the movies.
I know I don’t have one. I don’t have a psychological problem on that front.

But she has an eating disorder.
I know this for a fact. It’s obvious. It’s all in her mind.
She knows that I know.

I don’t have this need to starve my body in order to feed my mind. My mind is plenty full.
Anyways, I don’t have the will. Or the power. Hence, no willpower. I give up too easily {on almost every front}.

The constant fact is I am confused. Perpetually. Hence, I have no laser focus type determination on any thing. Contrary to what may appear otherwise … let’s just say I have refined the art of illusion over the years.

I am not sick.
I am not insane either.
It’s difficult to explain.
It’s merely an imbalance … which hey! we ALL have it; just that yours is perhaps a little less intense and for a shorter span periodically, like clock work. They call it PMS. And it’s ok to have PMS. In fact, it’s a very powerful 3-letter:

………………..symptoms: foul mood….….….symptoms: snappy….….….symptoms: hideous dressing
diagnosis: PMS….….….….…...diagnosis: PMS….….….. …diagnosis: PMS
et cetera et cetera et cetera

For the last 3 weeks I see darkness creeping in.
I had half convinced myself it was undue exhaustion from my Motorcycle Diaries obsession followed by an acute level of PMS.
But now as my body is being dragged deeper and deeper beneath the sheets, and my bones weigh a tonne with eyelids that feels like steel sheeting shutter doors … I know. These are the sign. I last had it in a foreign land some years back that got me packing home, settling for a job that paid two-thirds less.

Time to cut down the caffeine. The painkillers – bah! No inches Armani shoes for the time being.
Time to pack my scheduler.
Exercise.

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