... or a day spent wrapped in a blanket with the curtains stopping the sun light from entering the room. That seems to be home lately.
If it wasn't for my dog, I would still be under that blanket by now, but she needed to go for a walk. This little activity pushed me to do something more than lying. So I had this thought in my mind, that maybe it's possible to eat so much unhealthy food until it causes death. But it occurred not to be that easy, unfortunately, maybe if I would eat something not vegan it would work? But I didn't. So I'm still here. Feeling to weak to fight, feeling to weak to go away, feeling to weak to speak about my emotions. And feeling ashamed of being weak. Blaming. Myself for being weak, beloved ones for seeing me in such a state. Pissed off with a euro 2012 reality outside my window, suffocating with love. Either hate, nor love gives me anything I could start with, anything that would move my thoughts from this state of mind. Feeling helpless, falling even deeper with every unsuccessful attempt of healing my head. Terrified with coldness of my heart, of indifference I feel. I just don't want to care about another eviction, about another drunk jerk with polish flag on his face pissing by my window, about another person being arrested, about militants strolling on the streets of my city, about my freedom, about your freedom, about millions of herrings being murdered, of which few lay in my fridge in cream sauce, screaming at me every time I open the fridge: "who cares you're a vegan? we are dead and we are in your fridge!" And they make me realize even stronger that the world around is not the way I would like it to be, nor even the way I could accept it to be. And it never will. Nor my fridge is the way I could accept it to be. So what for trying?
Just feeling like running away again. Like packing my backpack and never being in a "back again" stage.