22:19 - 16.09.2007
dead; unburied

my dad cornered me this morning. for 85 words, he claimed. i got a long lecture about why he wants me to quit taking laxatives. as though it’s so simple! reason #1: he doesn’t want me to get sick—am i not already quite ill? reason #2: he doesn’t want me to die. newsflash: i just happened to die last night.

briefly, albeit. sometime while i was asleep, my soul parted from my body. i know that it wasn’t a dream because i felt myself exiting, and it kind of hurt. like i was being slowly torn in two. a voice told me it was time to come. i went right along into the darkness after it. and no—there was no bright light like people always associate with death. it was quite dark. maybe because it was the middle of the night. anyway. i left. dead. gone. felt it. and then i stopped. i demanded that the voice put me back in my body. it wanted to know why. i told it that i didn’t want to be found dead and bulimic in my bed. that wasn’t a sufficient reason. so i said that i was afraid of what would happen to me when i died. no good. then one word came to me: my fiancé’s name.

the voice put me back. i felt myself stuffed back inside the flesh. presently, i awakened, feeling scrambled-up and dazed. it took me awhile to figure out where i was and what had happened.

then, being that the laxatives had kicked in, i got up and staggered to the bathroom, still feeling ethereal. i guess my body just gave up on me.