I haven't seen the sun in six days. I dropped my name for three of those days and adopted a whole new identity as # 39. A subject to a project. I have zilch left in my bank account, four overdue bills, no food. A broken telephone, a crazy friend who expects too much of me, a miserably depressed sibling, a family friend with leukemia, back pains, nausea, headaches. These are all possible triggers to one of the worst anxiety attacks in the history of Cristina's life. But who knows, maybe it was the fourth McDonald's (free!) coffee refill or the pack of cigarettes chained smoked or the lack of food in my system or the street cat chewing on a dead pigeon's wing or simply, the price I pay for being chemical imbalanced (my least favorite reason, because it proves how little control I have over my life). Either way, had it not been for the 100% I received on my Eastern Religion and the Arts test and the warm, embracing, loving hug I always get upon my arrival home every evening, I probably wouldn't be here right now. And I'm not saying this to be overly dramatic. I am not suicidal, but I've never felt so close to fucking shit as I did today. - Listening to: Belle and Sebastien I hear jingling keys outside. I stare at my door, eyes widened, fingers cross. Although I do not want to believe it, I know I am spending tonight alone. I have a huge to-do list, with no desire to comply with what "responsible Cristina" wrote three hour's prior. (Defensive Cristina comes to the rescue: poor child, suffering of this and that, with no motivation, how can you blame her?) I am thirsty, but feel no urge to get off the couch and quench it. I have a growling stomach, with no intention to bribe it for quietness with a sandwich. I feel the need to do something destructive but don't care enough to go along. I also don't have the heart, the nerves, the gut for it. I ache for sleep. Which could be easily obtained since I'm already lying down, cocooned in numerous sheets and blankets. Okay. Go. now. Goodnight.