Black Plague

Day 16

I came into college for an hour and a half in which I juggled between continuous coughing fits, a splitting headache and a clogged up nose - the definition of attractive. My immune system insists on shutting down no matter how many tablets, mixtures, fruits, cups of herbal tea and soup I glug. My ribs are bruised from coughing. My whole chest is on fire. I feel satisfyingly at peace because for once, my physical state seems identical to my mental and emotional. Until I literally cough myself to tears and its not so peaceful anymore that is.

My prediction was accurate - I stayed home alone last night, scratching up my lungs with coughing and choking on scorching tea (how ironic) while he was evidently too busy to reply to one text. I had about a three hour slot where the whole thing weighed down on me three times harder than it has for the last few days. I suddenly felt twice as alone and rejected, five times more attached to him and a thousand times more in love with him. God, how pathetic I am.

Today I feel like I'm sure people who were unfortunate to have the plague had felt. Corpse-like and hopeless. Although the hopelessness is less to do with the plague really. Im too ill to sing, eat, sleep (I can't due to the urge to cough every 3 seconds... oh here it comes again), concentrate on a single piece of work or a book so I am staring blankly at the telly and dreaming about recovering and still being alive 10years down the line.
Want to see my therapist - Mr S visited again, not good. Or good. It depends on whether I feel Sylvia Plath-ey or not. I'm quite Sylvia today. Her words wash over me like Holy water. Instead of a poetess, I think she is more of a semi-God. But look how semi-Gods like her end up. Head in an oven, after she ran out of inspiration.

Anyway, mother is out. I have been alone all day. I will undoubtably be alone all day tomorrow because I feel far to death-like to come into lessons. Alone means contemplation. Contemplation means thoughts of him. Sylvia's behind the door.
I will watch this trashy American shit on telly, which makes people so 2D and simple and lovable.

Goodnight.
Three words still stapled to my lips.