I had an appointment with my GP at eleven o’clock on Tuesday morning to refill my contraceptives. I set the alarm clock, but when it went off, I didn’t get up. I couldn’t wake up. I couldn’t move. I meant to press snooze but turned it off instead. I slept until two in the afternoon, and I didn’t wake up when the doctor’s office called—twice. I wasted their time. I can’t show my face there again. I’ll just find another way to take care of the pills. I’ll just wait until I meet the psychiatrist again—he seems eager enough to scribble down scripts for whatever I want.

Optimism

Optimism

I finished my birth control pills a week ago. It was no problem getting a new prescription from my psychiatrist. The new pills are already in our bathroom cabinet. The doc said I had to wait for my next period before I can start taking them. I’m not worried about this break—in fact I’ve suspected for years that I might be infertile. When I was fucking around, I was often reckless, and nothing ever happened.

He hates condoms, says they’re uncomfortable and unnatural. I’m pretty sure he’s never had to use them with other girls. We haven’t ever, at least. I don’t mind him cumming in me.

Drought

Drought

I’ve always been irregular. Maybe I’ve become anemic. Maybe it’s the meds. Maybe I’m like a Russian ballerina who’s starved off her womanhood. I’m not squeamish about blood; let it overflow the banks, flood between my thighs, through my pants.

Absence

Absence

I’ve kept quiet over the fact that he has two children for so long that their existence has become a massive lie. I don’t think my parents would mind him being a father—that’s just how life goes sometimes. But I’m pretty sure they would have reservations about him not taking care of them. He’s never visited his kids while we’ve been together, probably because it’s hard enough as it is to have to look after his crazy girlfriend.

Going Down

Going Down

Our bed is descending slowly into the ground, like an elevator. I touch the cold, wet walls of earth. The darkness becomes thicker, but if I concentrate and stare straight upward, I see in the distance our bedroom ceiling. The bed sinks deeper and deeper, I have no control over this mechanism. There are no buttons, no way to get back up. Dirt and insects slowly fall on my mattress, filling it up. In the muck, I roll over to my other side and try to sleep some more.

Situation

Situation