Started Writing at: 15.14

I’ve just woken up for the second time today. My brain keeps short-circuiting. I get overwhelmed and it shuts my whole body down. I’m waking myself up to write this by listening to The Slits; but my lack of Spotify premium means that government notices, reminding me to “Stay At Home”, keep playing in the place of ad breaks. I’d switch it off, but mum is watching the Doom Cast channel (formerly known as the BBC News channel) and I just can’t handle any more virus talk.

The second sleep was prompted by the issue of food. In everyday life food is complicated for me. A fixation for my paranoia and OCD. I eat standardised items- the same things every day- because I know how they taste, and so would know if they were poisoned. At least that is the theory. It doesn’t stop my eyes seeing slimy green stuff all over it. In The Age of the Virus is making things even more difficult- I can’t access the right foods. Something as simple as changing brands forces my brain into a tailspin. This morning we did a Tesco order for me, my parents, my grandparents, and various neighbours (it’s very hard to get a slot- so my parents are helping people out). We were limited to 80 items. I ordered 12. They were not what I would usually eat. My brain went into panic mode, followed by chattiness (I refer to audio hallucinations as “Chatty Brain”), followed by complete dissociation- hence the need to sleep.

The music has moved onto Bikini Kill. I’ve been listening to tons of punk and riot grrrl as research for a TV pilot I am writing. It’s about an all woman, all disabled punk band. There has been some interest from various parties- but it’s all off for now whilst the virus rages. I’ve found myself writing prose about the characters while I wait.

Hypergraphia. Hypergraphia. Hypergraphia. Hypergraphia.

Sorry- once I decided I was going to repeat it- it had to be four times. Four is a good number. Three is the worst number. I’m fucked when it comes to writing and the rule of three.

I made a piece of film when I first woke up. It’s just a blurry image of my lips moving- pretending to chew. I think I was trying to express something about the food. I feel like people are accusing me of being greedy. My voices certainly are. The truth is- no matter how little, or how much I eat- anti-psychotics ensure I stay heavy. It’s hard to remember that sometimes.

We own two rabbits. They are out on the sofa with Mum right now. One of them is more like a hare. She’s mine. She’s super long, and very strong. She has a habit of chewing her feet. Chewing and chewing and chewing and chewing until she creates huge sores. Once she had a flea bite and chewed a hole in her back the size of a fifty pence piece. I think most owners would have had her put down. I never will.


Finished Writing at: 15:42




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