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Diary Entry Number 114

It seems like so long ago that I started writing in this. It helps to combat the loneliness. I know it’s ridiculous; an agoraphobic looking for company in a computer screen, but it’s not as absurd as someone talking to their pet like it is going to respond. You seek interaction where you can and to be perfectly honest, in this day and age; it’s quite easy to live your entire life within the walls of your house.

I can pay my bills online. I work online as a web designer. I order food out and if the mood strikes me, I can place an order at the super market to have my food brought right to my front door. I’m not a bad cook. For a small price, a fee smaller than you think, I can live my whole life without stepping outside. I’m in perfect health. Both physically and mentally, well, mental health is debatable.

You could argue that my response to the incident was justifiable. I was almost beaten to death outside, so why shouldn’t I develop an aversion to going outside? I would say that anyone who thinks my agoraphobia is a symptom of insanity I would counter by saying that they were the crazy ones. How could you walk through the world with dangers around every corner? Debilitating accidents waiting around every corner and maiming mishaps waiting at in alleyways. To put yourself in that much danger. You all must be crazy.

Diary Entry Number 115

Sorry if this journal entry seems a little riddled with typos. I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. I’ve been tossing and turning at night and I can’t seem to find a comfortable position. I drift off for fifteen or so minutes and then I’m back to the waking world. I never really had problems getting to sleep like this before. It’s a pain in the ass. I managed an hour of uninterrupted sleep before sunlight broke through the curtains. A couple days of this has begun to take its toll on me.

Work is going all right. I just finished up a pretty large web project and have a little more downtime now. Maybe it is residual stress that’s keeping me up? I was barely getting any sleep while working on that project anyway. It’ll probably take a day or so for my circadian rhythm to get back to normal. I’ve heard of crazier things. Let a couple of days pass and I’ll be back to normal and right as rain.

Diary Entry Number 116

Stress is probably the worst thing for someone’s health and well-being. (Besides methicillin-resistant bacterial strains.) Excessive stress can result in someone putting on weight, losing sleep, and even sexual dysfunction. I guess I should consider myself lucky that I just have a little difficulty sleeping and a nasty sore on the inside of my mouth. Everything else seems to be in working order and running without problems.

The canker sore only bugs me a little when I eat or drink or prod at it with my tongue. The later has unfortunately become a habit. It’s like I can’t leave it alone and have to keep bothering it with my tongue. I know that it’ll never recede if I keep messing with it, but it’s almost a subconscious action now. I don’t even know I’m doing it until a small spark of pain alerts me that I'm messing with it again.

Diary Entry Number 117

Well, the lack of sleep has finally gotten to me. I was going downstairs towards my office when my foot slipped off the last step and I went down like a bag of bricks right on my ass. I have never been the most graceful person, but I can command enough of my motor functions to walk and get around. Well, at least get around inside my house. This fatigue is really taking its toll on me. I’m definitely going to get a bruise from this.

Diary Entry Number 117

StairRenovation

Hurt like a bitch.

A couple of days have passed since I ate shit and busted my ass on the stairs. The bruise is now looking pretty atrocious. It’s a deep dark color and it’s right on my ass. I keep looking at the bruise in the mirror, it looks like I got spanked by the Almighty Herself. It should be fading away, but it’s still there. It’s probably because I keep looking at it that I am unable to see the slow change.

I know why I want it to fade away other than the discomfort of it. The bruise is a constant reminder of my embarrassing tumble. I’m glad no one was around to see that. I was born into a small family. My mom and dad only had me. They loved kids and I think the only thing keeping them from having more was their infertility. They passed away a few years ago and I inherited their house, this house.

I think their deaths may have contributed to my agoraphobia. I guess I subscribe to the old Freudian concepts that the children inherit their parents’ insecurities. In my more melancholic moments I sometimes blame them for my shortcomings. I usually snap out of it a couple minutes later and realize that blame is a lot like pie. You can cut as many slices of it as you like and share it with everyone, but in the end, you should always reserve the biggest piece of blame pie for yourself.

Diary Entry Number 118

Sorry about that totally weird last entry. I guess it goes with the territory of getting old. My thirtieth birthday is fast approaching and I think that fact is making me wax philosophic. It’s a little early for a midlife crisis, who knew that life creeps up on you so fast? I’m becoming an old man and I didn’t even realize that it had started.

I woke up this morning and went to make my bed. As I was re-arranging my pillow, I noticed that there’s hair on the pillows. I’m going bald just like my dad. Another slice of blame pie. I think when I finish up with work, I’ll look into buying some Rogaine online. It worked with the fatigue. A couple of Ambien before bed and I’m out like a light and get a full night’s sleep.

Journal Entry Number 119

My birthday was pretty good. Streamed a couple of my favorite movies and had a couple of beers. A couple too many beers really. I wasn’t keeping track of how much I was drinking until I got up to go the bathroom and then I felt the full effects. I woke up today feeling pretty nauseous. My head was pounding as well. I don’t typically drink a lot, but I’ve been known to have my binges. I got sick last night and I got sick when I woke up this morning as well. Having a hangover still sucks as much as it did when I was a kid.

The Rogaine arrived today. I opened the door and greeted the delivery man. I’d known him for quite a while. We have always had a pretty good rapport. He knew about my little condition and typically brought my packages and bills right up to my front door. He was sympathetic about my agoraphobia. I give him a tip every now and then and a gift on Christmas.

He took one look at me and said, "You look like shit, man.”

I nodded and confessed that I had a pretty rough night. He asked how many drinks I had had last night and I answered that I think I drank everything I had. He laughed and told me I had to take better care of myself. I took the package and told him that I would do just that. He went about with his job and I closed the door and slid the deadbolt back in place.

Journal Entry 120

Something is definitely wrong with me. I just came out of the bathroom when I realized I hadn’t flushed. I turned around and went back inside to flush. My stool had blood in it. What the Hell is happening to me? Did I hurt myself that bad in the fall? There was no way that was the case. Do I have an ulcer or something? I need to get to the bottom of this. Pun not intended.

I called a doctor’s office today, but quickly learned that doctors no longer perform house visits. Apparently they hadn’t performed a house call since the 1960’s. I explained my situation and agoraphobia to the secretary, she was sympathetic, but said that the doctor only worked in the office. I tried to offer a little extra to get him out, but I was rebuffed. I wasn’t going to get this checked out unless I went downtown to him.

I don’t feel that bad really. Really. I bet that the blood in my stool was probably a freak occurrence. The next time I shit, it’ll probably be back to the normal color. I don’t have any stomach pain so it’s probably not an ulcer or cancer or whatever I was thinking earlier. I’ll give it a day or so and if it gets worse, I’ll see if I can’t go outside for a trip to the doctor’s office.

Diary Journal 122

I’m feeling shitty. My bowels are still shitting crimson like that scene from Carrie. Sorry if that seems vulgar, but let’s face it; I’m typing this on a computer. This is a journal, this is not a social interaction. I’m the only person writing this and reading it. It keeps the feelings of loneliness at bay. I don’t have to worry about being offensive. My stomach still doesn’t hurt, but the color isn’t very re-assuring. I know what I have to do.

Journal 1222

3283697111 9f70cc00e3

Photographic evidence confirming how painful this feels.

I couldn’t do it. I got as far outside before I was like, 'Nope!’ It’s scary what’s happening to me, but it’s scarier out there. Outside is the infinite. Its maw is snapped wide open and it’s looking to engulf me whole. It’ll snap shut as soon as I get close enough. I don’t want to get swallowed up into that entropy. Inside my house is only one thing. It’s safer, I’m safer inside. It took a couple of minutes to calm down and slow my breathing once I locked the door. I’m sure I can convince a doctor to come down and give me a look-over.

A couple hours have passed since then. I called the doctor’s office, but it had already closed. I decided against leaving a message. I’m typing this as carefully as I can. It hurts to type. I never learned proper typing etiquette, I hunt and peck. It’s a dull discomfort. Every click and clack of the keyboard is accompanied by that nuisance. I think that’s all for tonight.

Journal 12

Oh God! I found out why it hurt to type. My nails are loose. They were loose enough to push back into my fingers and cause the pain. I pulled one out in sick fascination. It slid out easily and a viscous fluid welled up in its place. The fingernail clinked in the sink. There was no blood. They were just falling out. I pulled them out one by one. My hands look weird now, a yellowish red. It doesn’t hurt to type anymore. I’m having problems thinking straight. Clink, clink, clink. That’s at least one problem solved. I can type now.

Entry Diary 124

I shut the door to the bathroom. I’m not going in there anymore. I’m trying to maintain my hygiene, but that’s proving to be quite detrimental. I feel like the freaking Brundle-fly. I was dragging a comb through my head earlier today and a huge clump of hair came out. I’m not talking about a couple of follicles. I’m talking like if I had actually used a hair clipper by mistake instead of a comb. I’m wasting away and am too scared to even go outside.

Dairy Entry 125

9770259-cartoon-tooth-vector-with-thumb

Not much to smile about nowadays anyways

I sneezed. Christ, it was just a sneeze. I was just toying with the spots where my fingernails used to be and it happened. I felt something shoot out of my mouth and go skipping across the counter like little white rabbits before vanishing over the edge. A foolish part of me hoped it was phlegm, but it didn’t sound anything like a viscous glob. It sounded like ivory on granite, it sounded like enamel.

I found them on the carpet. They were tucked away like little ivory treasures under a chair. I’m wasting away. I need to get some help. I need it urgently. I tried to dial the doctor’s office, but I can't remember the number. I started to head towards the door, but I can’t get my body to move right. I crumpled to the floor and was on the ground for the rest of the night. I just managed to pull myself onto the couch a couple of minutes ago. The delivery guy is sure to come back soon. I hope I don’t give him a heart attack when he first sees me. Patches of hair, without nails and probably soon without teeth.

126

Most teeth gone now. I tongue them loose and spit them out. One by one. Each stained a red, red kroovy. Feel dizzy. Tried to leave, but felll agin. Mouth sore weeps like an open wound. So exhausted. Pants are stained a brownish red. Don’t feel so hungry. Not even for blame pie. Can’t make sence. I’m woozy. Don’t feel much now. Writing keeps me focused. Keeps me sane. The delivery man is coming. Will come. Has to come. Last tooth fell out.

Riverside News Obituary

Richard Stone, a web designer, was found in his home earlier this week by neighbors. The time of death is not known due to extreme decomposition. The cause of his death is also not known, but sources do suggest that high levels of radium in the water may have some link to his untimely death.



Written by EmpyrealInvective
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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