Its been 18 days since I last spoke to someone, and it’s been over six months since I was last touched. Not because I’m evil or have a problem, but because I am me.
I cut myself off. I refuse to make an effort, instead to sit on my bed and overthink. To wonder about all the things that I have done and haven’t done. I read, trying to live through the lives of those in the book.
It doesn’t work. I am lonely.
But I like it.