I clearly need to injure myself. By which I mean cut lumps from my own flesh. I have clothes trying on with mother dearest and I don't fancy being caught out and thrown out and what not.
It's getting to the point where any little injury will do. Any little paper cut. But I don't want any little thing. I want big, blood, muscle, tissue. Everything.
As soon as this thing is over in February I am cutting myself up like a Christmas ham. Yes, pessimistic thinking.
Fuck you.
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