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Showing posts from December, 2015

Dear Nobody,

Believe me when I say I have been writing. I have – on random pieces of paper, on my laptop, in my notebook, on the back of receipts and chewing-gum packets. I look at the writing, but it’s garbled. Some dreams, snippets of thoughts, the beginning of a story; mostly vomit. 
Vomiting on paper helps my bad nerves. On days when I don’t purge, I can feel the demons shape-shifting inside me, brewing these bubbling fears that come gargling up and block my throat. Those are the dark days that I can’t bring myself to sit down at my desk, or meditate, or even put a normal string of thoughts together. Like a broken radio I get all this deafening interference that clouds my mind and makes me anxious. I try to sleep it away but it sneaks up on me in my dreams, and I run run run away from the wild animals, and the knife-wielding shadows, and the monsters, but still it catches up with me and I stay up at night, sweating and staring at the ceiling. 
So I try to write, I try to walk, I try to sleep,…