end up in richest poverty.

I'm starting to feel the nature of my addiction shift to another dimension.
I'm starting to feel like I might not be a sex addict.
It might just be much worse.


Another weekend full of bad decisions. Nothing new.
Except when I came home this time, I felt very honestly
that I could be
seriously mentally ill.

The idea of crying came to mind but I needed to go out and try to live my life.
I went to a cadaver lab today in drawing class.
Standing in a room surrounded by shelves of lifeless bodies, I was frozen.
On a table in a fluorescent lit room, a man lifts a sheet and a corpse lays rigid and flayed.
The man lifts the arm aggressively and we gasp.
I sit and draw the back of the thigh and marvel at the tendons stringed behind the knee.
In another room, the man opens another bag and a pile of organs and flesh are brought to sight.
He shows us the tongue, not inside a mouth but out in the air.
While he's shifting the surrounding body to show us the mouth, I notice his thumb pressing into an eye.

Another body he shows us is filleted symmetrically at the chest. He pulls out a detached heart and sticks his finger in the hole. He shows us a gallbladder. He closes the muscles and then the skin of the chest before we move on.

It was in his imprudent handling of the bodies that I came to realize again that I shouldn't worry so much about what people think of me. If I put my life on the scale of all history, for all intents and purposes, I'll be dead soon.