I'm supposed to ride my horse today. Daddy came home from work so we could all go to gymkhana together. I've been looking forward to it for days.
I'm not going. Instead, I will lock myself in my bedroom with the curtains drawn, hiding under the soft blanket. Maybe I'll leave my room, when my head stops aching, when my legs stop shaking, when I can catch my breath in my chest. Maybe I'll leave when my stomach stops pinching in terrible agony.
Yesterday, I intended to post. But by the time I had crawled into bed, I no longer had the presence of mind to do so, or the energy. I can't count how many times yesterday I knelt before the porcelain god (monster) and spewed vomit. Everything I ate was removed, even a simple meal. Everything except a half bag of microwave popcorn, and half of a bottle of whisky. Cinnamon whisky, the kind the burns the mouth and warms the belly. I got drunk and fell off the steps.
And now here I lay, and I will suffer through the day after effect. Not so much an alcohol hangover, I think, as a food hangover.
Fuck.
Goodday.
Micha,
BLADESNBONES.
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