“We as humans take approximately 23,000 breaths a day. So let’s make this one count.

No matter how many times I read this quote, repeating it to myself, or read about how precious life is, I still have this feeling. This ill feeling towards ‘life.’

As I type this, I am thinking to myself, (probably over-thinking), “How do I start?”

Do I open with a funny joke? A fact? Simply just by naming who I am, what I do, and why the hell I am interesting?

What makes a person interesting? Experience.

Tic, tic, tic.

The sound of the clock haunts me as I sit waiting, waiting for my ‘results’. Sitting in this petite room, at my therapist’s office, time could not move any slower.

“Alright, honey,” she crows, calling me back into her office.

I am thinking two things.

1) Did I drive here? How did I get here? What day is it, even? 
2) She’s about to lock me up.

Never did I want to die more than in that moment. In that moment, and all the moments before, death was upon me, and Iwelcomed it. I welcomed it with open arms. I wasn’t living anymore. I was simply existing.

I never thought I would day dream about death as much as I have, but I also never thought I would develop anorexia either. But here we are.


What a foreign word. It’s like ‘herpes’ or ‘AIDS’. When people hear those words, they just gasp or cringe. Some just simply gaze at you as, if you just spoke the unthinkable, the unfathomable.

24 years old. About to graduate from Arizona State University. An avid runner and adventurer. Knocking at death’s door, quite literally.

“When did life become so complicated?” I asked myself, as I pack my bags.

Packing up my life, getting rid of those things that I didn’t deem necessary to move on. Move on to what? The next chapter of my life? Where the hell did I think I was going?

To move on my own, Ha! I laughed and so did my alter mind.

“You think moving will help?” he whispered.

“Maybe…” I whispered back.

“I’ll be here, no matter what,” he said.

Where did I think I was going? I’m going to move out on my own and what, be dead in three weeks?

The doctors gave me three weeks to live, if I didn’t get help.

Three weeks.

What a relief. Three weeks until paradise.

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