/lit/ - Literature

I only write in my journal/diary when I'm at a real low point, I treat it like a distraction. Here's an entry of when I was starving at University with no friends. Please don't bully me, I wrote it after not having a proper meal for 6 days and not having slept in 32 hours. I edited out a name because I fear the idea of someone aware of me reading this and connecting the dots. As unlikely as it is. Most of my entries are me being a loser, walking around the woods at night or being a lunatic covering myself in gasoline:


Starving, dying, wasting away. It had been three days since I had anything to eat on Thursday the twenty-seventh when I received a call from my mother. At the time I was lying in bed around eleven at night, trying to ignore the phone call [name], whom I have not interacted with again in over a week, was taking in the hallway—it sounded like he was talking to his mother, talking about his course; it was a length conversation—when my phone rang. Both my parents could hear, and commented on, the weakness in my voice, where I confessed I hadn’t eaten for two days. In reality, it had been closer to four, and even before my forced fast I had scarcely eaten much, often having no more than a single sandwich or pouring honey onto my tongue until it was raw from the sweetness. I remember an old fable I once read where woodland creatures were forced to drink honey because a selfish fox kept spring where water flowed freely hidden. My parents expressed their worry, my father told me he, ‘didn’t want a repeat of last year.’
Feeling my body weakening I knew this couldn’t go on. The whole week I had been idle and vegetate, doing precious little other than waking at some irregular hour and dallying on my computer: I didn’t attend lectures, as I found the information for when they were or what they required of me confusing; I didn’t go to any of the clubs or societies’ taster days because I found the process confusing at least and tedious at most.
‘You can do it,’ my mother told me. After hanging up I stayed in bed for a few more hours until four, before the sun rose and got ready. I made one of my French omelettes, which turned out better than many of my others, just to hold me over. The plan was to go into town, eat a large breakfast and do some much-needed shopping. Leaving my room around eight I ran into one of my flatmates whom I bumped into only once before—a tall Indian or Sri Lankan looking guy with glasses. I got his name wrong and told him I was going into town.

>mfw I look at every image to see if they might be one of my posts
>mfw they never are