April 11th, 2002. - 11:58 a.m.

In need of renewal.

In need of a method to heighten the senses. All five senses: touch, taste, audio, smell*, visual. (*I could have said olfactory, but that word never seems right.)

This is all my fault, you realize, I allowed myself to remain sick. I knew this would happen.

Pulled open old wounds. Still nothing. Grotesque, I know. Processes of self mutilation.

Cut the fingernails a painfully short length. Now am all too aware of my fingertips. The other four I can do nothing about; ich waite.

Thoughts must endure an obstacle course before they begin to make sense. Several miles away in the foggy distance, one can almost make them out, jumping bright white hurdles. (No, I do not think that one is going to make it... oy. That looks like it hurt.)

I need to be free. Close my eyes and fly.

N.

�