Smother.

I went to the grocery store the other day.

I didn't plan it.

Didn't know what I'd get.

It's been a year since I went out in such a public place.

I was proud of myself.

Proud that I only purchased two items.

But those two things broke me.

A pan of danish.

A mocha frappuccino.

It's not the calories I cared about.

It's that, days later, I felt the guilt.

For spending money.

For wasting my time.

The thoughts spinning, what if?

What if I had chosen anything

anything else?

I still held more self-control

than I knew possible,

but how dare I think

I deserve something special.

I'm craving the emptiness again,

knowing that, before I go to bed,

I'll cross out some items on the

grocery list (that isn't mine).

She'll take a trip for me

and I'll retract the usual things,

the comforts, the things I don't need.

Don't deserve.

If only to be empty again.

To be back at the place

where I feel dizzy,

high with the impossibility of life.

Not weighed down

by digested thoughts,

regrets scratching the back of my throat.

Wishing I could do more.

Feeling inadequate

at being sick.

At being completely unreasonable.

At knowing this is insolvable.

Illogical.

I don't know why I wrote this,

I don't know why I bother

telling the truth anymore.