Gary Schwarzinger

Most of the pains are gone, my body is playing a new trick: no food.
I simply can't eat, can't drink; my daily supply is far less than my normal breakfast.
The consequence is: no food, no medicine. You simply can't take medicine with empty stomach. My stomach protests loudly once in a while, and sometimes I give it one or two bites of Knoppers snacks not to embarres me in front of others, or one or two sipps of orange nectar. but not more. and that happens up to three times a day, not more. Economical, isn't it?
I can stand light again, that is positive, because it means, I can write again without suffering to death.
Writing, writing is the only thing which keeps me going. So I write, I write, to keep me alive, to keep me breathing, to keep me...
She claimed she would know it if I died, but just let me ask how? How are you supposed to find out if there is no second a day when you'd be missing me? I am afraid of death, that is true. I am afraid that this pain might never go off if I die now, I am afraid that death might not end it all, afraid that death should have no peace to offer.
Another good thing about writing is that is brings me out of my room, where it is her domain. Yes, my room is rediculously her domain, she is all over my room, all over it. There is no corner where I can turn around and see that it belongsto me alone. Once she wanted me, she did really want me, and I gave me to her; she didn't give me back to me when she said she did not want to see me again. Could she, ever?