Fifteen. I puked fifteen times on my first day of chemo. What is this, fishing for pity? Seeking attention? I don't even know and I don't even care anymore. I used to feel the weight of my actions rest so heavily on my shoulders, how I portray myself to others, how I carry myself in the world. But this is painful, this is unbearable, and I don't need another thing to weigh me down. Let me rant, let me complain, let me cry. I want to be reckless and careless and make myself happy. I want to be irresponsible with my words and decisions. I want to be sloppy, a big fat crying mess. I want to finish my work at the last minute and get an average grade. I want to ask for help. I want to take a break. I feel I am going to break. I don't want to feel bad for needing a shoulder to lean on. I don't want to wake up feeling like a wreck the previous night. I want to be able to let all of this out and not feel a single ounce of guilt, like I owe somebody their night after stealing a few hours, like I owe somebody a favour after having them listen to me, like I owe it to myself to clean up and be dignified again. There is nothing pretty or admirable about how I'm handling all of this. I am a wreck, I am a mess, I am wobbling on the fence every day. I am losing it and I want to quit. I really can't take this anymore. Let me collect my free pass to burn shit up. Let me collect my quiet and cash it in for excuses. Let me melt and be a nuisance to society and to the people around me. I am falling quick and I am not sure there's anyone at the end of all this to catch me. I have no energy to pray anymore.