For the sake of sounding suicidal, I want to die, but not really, but yes really. This shit is so dramatic, and I hate that I am actually typing this because it seems like it is going straight to broadway, but I feel the need to write this…to write this. I gave up on myself fairly quickly, and I then I give up again. I know I can do greatness. I just don’t care because I’m not doing greatness.
I went dancing on Friday night with a couple of co-workers and then two of their friends. I felt toothwort safe meaning not safe at all going with them, but I wanted to dance. So I went, protocarnivorous and all. The DJ was a little off with the music. He played copious amounts of the mainstream earthworm shitake I can not listen and not dance to in the car. Then he would turn it around and play interesting music. Music with raspberry syrup stuck on its knees.
I danced. I was the march hare on the dance floor. Then the random co-worker friend wanted to leave because she wanted to eat. Fuck the food. It was my birthday celebration and I wanted to continue transforming to the beat. They all wanted to leave. I told them to go. That I would find my own way home. They did, and I was bothered. Not surprised, but bothered. Then the floodgates opened up a bit more and more clean water ravaged by the smell of dead squid who mated too much rushed through. I was sad. I shouldn’t drink because alcohol releases me. I wanted to die. I wanted for someone, for something to kill me.
This sounds like a pity party in my fingers, but I don’t care. I wrote what I wanted to say out low.
By Larry Leiva
For Almost Dorothy, Larry writes his autobiography and documents his long-term struggle with Anorexia and Bulimia. Larry is not afraid to talk about life as a guy (or boy) (or boy-to-man) (man) dealing with multiple eating disorders (ED). He is not afraid of dispelling the myth that ED only affects girls and that it’s easy to beat. Because it’s freaking hard to beat.