hiiii everyoneeeee
currently im writing this in my never-ending bedrest slum to convince myself i have at least done something. for the past about two days i have barely gotten up out of bed and have just been indulging in this state of being in and out of consciousness. I've been abusing doordash, sleeping, watching bits of the sopranos, sleeping some more. This morning I had woken up to find two icecream containers and a box of popsicles that i didnt recognize- melted and sitting on the floor next to my bed. when i checked my doordash app it said i ordered them in the middle of the night.
It all started like how everything does, after a long exhausting serving shift. i arrived home and i was like, in so much pain. i took meloxicam, (& don't get it twisted, im a resilient girl, mind over body type, convinced of my own control, so even that meloxicam i'm prescribed to take "everyday" takes a lot for me to give in) i followed it with flexiril, a muscle relaxer. Ever since i took that flexiril i haven't been able to leave my bed or remember much anything at all. The sleepiness, dizziness, and cloudiness it instills in me is intoxicating, and even when the medication wears off, i dont want to get up
ive never really believed in reincarnation or multiple lives, but something about that sentiment has been replaying in my daydreams lately. like while im zoning out and cleaning tables at work, i have this exact vision of my made up past life:
it's 1993 and i'm a fat chud living somewhere in the outskirts of Bejing, with middle-class parents and a neverending appetite for pleasure. Fat chud lives in a small studio apartment father pays for, which has been decorated with castles of fast food to-go boxes piling in the corner and unwashed bedsheets. fat chud spends all moments of living reading gay manga. inside always, window shudders sealed shut, never has had a real relationship. dies at 34 from type 2 diabetes related heart failure. At the funeral, mother and father cried. It was an open casket service, and on the soft frozen face, the pimples still beaded with red, the last resemblance of life, laziness bleeding out from within. a life lived distracted with consumption, waiting for the fantasy to pounce upon fat chud, never thinking to pounce upon its own.
shivers trickle down my spine just thinking about it. this ghoulish day dream of mine helps motivate (or rather excuse) my obsessions, like my soul calls out urgently and with panic do something, do not wait for life to happen to you, and definitely dont become a fat chud, sonya. this "past life" being a motif of my own identity as i see it, never feeling complete nor alive. I deeply desire a beautiful and extravagant life, filled with many accomplishments, a rebuke to mediocracy, i guess u could say i wanna MAX OUT MY STATS
I feel like a candle burning out from both ends. Like I oscillate between maximizing my efforts and working towards my accomplishments and then collapsing into these lifeless states of shamefully doing nothing
For example, I created the magazine Guts Mag, and it sold out within days, copies sent from Tokyo to Finland------whatever yada yada ayadada. i wrote pages and pages about the next season being even more exciting, more photography, more design, more more mroemore more mreo mreo more. I had began working for the second magazine release, the most memorable piece being the editorial-style shoot where i spent days manically sketching makeup and outfit designs
I was in a coffee shop within a mall, sitting and staring at my Season 2 project document blankly- suddenly i ran and vomited in the public restroom. I hate myself and I hate everything I stand for I rehearsed melodramatically in my mind, head hung over the toilet bowl. I stormed back to my computer and deleted the entire project. Slammed it shut, and then fully sweating waited 14 minutes for the R train to reach my stop and take me home. Later on, I of course recovered the project from my deleted folder, stared at it some more, but couldn't get myself to go on. I deactivated the Magazine instagram account hoping mutuals wouldn't notice, and apologized to the models looking forward to the release of the photos. Every endeavor I have ever pursued has ended up this way
For a 19 year old girl I sure do hold a lot of rage in my heart. I take it all out on my boyfriend like 24/7, then regret and cry about it later. I confide a lot in my manager at work (my current fatherly figure) and after some time of our conversations i asked him why it had to be this way, why i was this way, and he told me in a matter-of-fact kind of way, "well you're just a narcissist."
I have decided to try therapy for the first time, but obviously cannot afford one in this city. So I found one from India who charges roughly $15 a video session that i will try to attend weekly. My first session is actually tomorrow at 11am. I also got this ring of St. Jude that I will wear everyday
"St. Jude (Jude Thaddeus) is best known as the patron saint of desperate or seemingly impossible situations. His association with desperate cases developed partly because people historically avoided praying to him due to confusion between Jude and Judas. As a result, devotion to Jude became especially associated with people who had nowhere else to turn." 
Now that i have finished writing this, i have convinced myself to take a long hot shower and scrub all of this ruckus off, and follow it with a DIY at home microneedling session with my medical grade machine from the czech republic. TIME 2 DO STUFF 2 MY FACE >:) 
now that u have read everything thats wrong with me, GOODNIGHT XOXO
