Every morning I wake up to my stomach growling. I’m not starving, it’s smaller portions than I’m used to and it makes me uncomfortable. Uncomfortable isn’t the right word. More uneasy. It’s like the hunger is another reminder that I have no control over my life right now. My body feels like a shell of what it used to be. My thoughts drift off, as if they’re trying to escape. I waited by the road the other day and couldn’t stop thinking about hamburgers. I couldn’t tell you if it was two minutes or two hours. Time has taken on a different meaning.
My autopilot doesn’t work. Little mindless tasks I used to do without thinking now take effort. I’m aware of how long they take. I can hear a clock ticking in my head. A metronome keeping tempo. Alternatively, I can sit against a rock for hours and it doesn’t seem to register. I’m going crazy. I know it sounds dramatic, but I do feel like something is wrong with me. It’s not hyperbole.
One of the most frustrating things is that nothing has changed. It’s the same thing, day after day. Every fucking day. I walk out to the road and wait for nothing to happen. The raven stopped visiting once it realized I didn’t have any food to offer and no one from town seems to care. I’m crawling out of my skin. Like I’m a shell of the person that I used to be, and every day I’m stuck here, a little part of me breaks off and disappears. I’m scared that by the end of this, I’m going to be nothing. My heart aches for my family, I want to go home.