Perdi mi ojo de venado, soy un ser de obscuridad. Perdi mi vida en un rosario, entre milagros de latón.
Many keep my sanity well-protected, with their company and support. I reclaim it, only to waste it. I had failed to control and prevent so much, but would not give up until I found the one thing that I could have complete power over. It was right underneath this head that thinks too much. My own body.
I workout four hours a day. When only three are possible, that fourth hour will travel into the next day, which will see me exercise for five hours. This is not in an effort to lose weight, because, even at my most delusional and self-loathing, I can see that is not necessary. In fact, it is to gain weight. To avoid being subjected to criticism for being underweight, ever again. To release chemicals that will allow me to stop thinking about that which is impossible to fix, or at the very least, to exhaust myself into a stupor. Discipline, distraction, destruction.
Leave me to frantically shape everything to a clear perfection, complete with a shine to rival sparkling diamonds, polished free of the blood that produces everything. I do not want to be a bride, steady for the portrait, slowly removed far from the Anne Boleyn that exists inside all women. In the end, there will be an even exchange of lies, so that what there is to weigh against will only be met with a sense of accomplishment for the asshole, and embarrassment for the saint in devil’s clothing. But I am a nun on the rise with Attila the Hun. I am a savage. All the things there are to learn must be reached before the child comes, but my son has run off with his father, long before I met either.