Go. To. SLEEP.

Part 1: Killing Switch.

I hated this life.

An independent life was all I’ve ever wanted. I wanted nothing more than to live just as well-off as my parents and my friends – the one or two I still had left… and hardly ever talked to, anyways. But everything seemed to get in the way. I had a crappy job with backstabbing, conniving co-workers, and my online schooling was a pain in the ass. Pursuing a nuclear science degree was not the smartest decision I’d ever made. I mean, I’d never been good at math, that was for sure. What exactly was I doing with my life?...

Being the biggest loser possible.

That’s what.

I’m 23 years old. I live alone. I have no boyfriend. I have no pets. I have nothing but a life of absolute hell. I thought moving halfway across the nation would make everything better, but that was yet again another poor decision on my part. My parents strongly resented me for it; therefore, cutting all communication with me. I’ll never understand their choice regarding the matter, but things like that always seemed to happen to me. It was just my life, wasn’t it? There was no use trying to change my destiny. I tried to move away in hopes of making something of myself. Surely my parents had to understand that. Although, nowadays, it seemed that pleasing others was the only way I was going to be satisfied in life. Well, that was something that was just not going to happen anymore. Ever.

But I had to do something different. I had to do something for myself. I needed to live for myself and no one else. I wanted to be an author and an illustrator. I mean, that had always been my passion. I lived for it, but changing my career wasn’t a wise choice. Having to start back from the beginning would just be a waste of time. But, maybe I <em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">should switch. It was my dream, after all. But then again… So much of my time would be wasted. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t be making idiotic decisions like that. Not now.

I brushed these seemingly endless thoughts from my mind as best as I could as I threw my car keys down onto the tiny side table at the front door. I kicked my shoes off immediately afterward, and sighed heavily. The sweatshirt I was wearing was soaked and dripping from the rain. Those weathermen really needed to get their damn act together. This was the third day in a row they predicted sunshine. You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson after the second day of lies.

Although my house was practically falling apart, it was beautiful nonetheless. Definitely old, but beautiful. But it creaked and moaned and made noises I hated. Sleeping alone in this house was always a new sort of journey. I had to take severe medication just to put me to sleep, or the sounds would keep me up all night. I was always the skittish type. Halloween… scary movies… monsters… hated them all.

The old wooden floor boards made creaking noises as I walked through the foyer to the living room, into the kitchen, and finally to the laundry room. I pulled the sweatshirt over my head. My t-shirt came with it, exposing my lacy white bra. I threw them both on the floor before turning and making my way back into the kitchen. I was starving. I had been up since 6:00am, and here it was 8:00pm and this was my first meal of the day. I hated food as well as eating; I hated the way it made me looked. Simply walking around in just my bra and black suit pants made me feel uncomfortable. I gained at least 15 pounds in the past few months. Any reflection I passed was like a stab in the heart. I really hated the way I looked. Deep down I knew I was nowhere near fat… but my illness was telling me otherwise. I’m a size 2. That’s not obese, right? Dammit, never mind. I probably look like a cow.