I shut off my phone. I lay on the floor. I jump in the pool with all my clothes on. I run until my right foot gives out, it's almost always my right foot. I scream into a jar, then curl up in bed and sob, while I pretend I'm back inside my mother's womb. I cut off all my hair in an effort to avoid cutting into my own skin. I text people I shouldn't. I get on the train and don't get off until they force me to. I write in my journal. I write on here. I get high on weed, I get low on weed. I eat until I'm sick, then vomit until I'm empty. I dance like a maniac convulsing uncontrollably. I lay beside my mother, sometimes my father as well; in-between them, like when I was a child. I read. I use my guitar, I sing sad sad songs. I look at old photos. I read old diary entries. I make my bed in unusual places; in the garage, in the dryer, under the dining room table.