I’ve suspected I’ve had lymphoma for the last year. I told people about it, fearing that I would die unexpectedly. I started fasting to get rid of what I saw were melasma marks from hormone imbalances due to copper poisoning from the Paragard IUD. The lymph nodes didn’t really decrease, as I only fasted for 6 days.

As far as I can count, there are about 20 swollen lymph nodes, four on my neck, one on my collar, one on my left breast, and at least a dozen in my groin, some of them I can’t touch completely or have to squeeze to get to. Sometimes I think they’ve moved, but I’m unsure.

I have been gaining weight despite eating habits for the last year. About 50 pounds. To be fair, I was underweight from the stimulants and stress. I’ve been on and off antibiotics for the last two years because of the mold in my grandma’s house causing me severe allergic reactions.

Today is day 1 of a fast that I’ve been trying to do since May 2018 when I took a video of myself documenting my physical deterioration. I don’t recognize my face in the mirror, and my skin discoloration makes me unsightly. My doctor told me, “It looks like you have vitiligo” because of the bits of my natural light skin peeking out through the darkness.

I half-ass attempted to get this checked but knew the outcome would be this: Either I don’t have it, and I move on, or I have it and I get pushed into all types of therapies and medications that will leave me even worse.

There is one study I read about lymphoma being put into remission after a 3 week fast and a vegan diet. While I don’t support the vegan diet anymore, I do think fasting and fast-mimicking diets are the way to go.

God told me today to fast for 25 days. 25 days. I’m scared. If you ever see this, I just want to let you know that you’re the inspiration for this. I opened up to you that night and you believed in me. I deliberately tested you and you respected me enough to be honest with me. I needed someone to live for, and you have helped me with that.

Thank you for being you and thank you for this. I will do my best.

Most of my fantasies in graduate school revolve around finding someone to study with, and under. I blame television programs.

Around the time I was applying for graduate school, I was in an open marriage. Meaning: I had a husband and a boyfriend. I didn’t appreciate my husband entirely. I did, but at the same time I didn’t. What I mean is that I didn’t appreciate the stability I had.

The whole “until it’s gone” thing. But I wasn’t happy with him. That’s part of the joke isn’t it? I don’t think I’ll ever *be* happy. Happiness should not be an end-goal because it’s fleeting, cyclic. I was stable with him. And that was more important than my happiness, and fuck it, I was happy anyway, just unsatisfied in the relationship romantically. But again, romance… am I dreaming?

My husband and I divorced so I could marry my boyfriend so that he could live with me in the US. We had a trial run my first quarter of school… bad fucking idea, lemme tell you. I was incredibly distracted, among other things. It ended up revealing how ultimately incompatible we were.

(1.5 years later, I told him to kill himself. 1.5 months ago he reached out to me.)

I had this interest in white guys with long hair for years. I blame rock bands.

Around the time I was applying for undergrad, I had just ended my most serious relationship. Meaning: He broke up with me. I didn’t appreciate my boyfriend. I did, but at the same time I didn’t. What I mean is that I cheated on him. Twice. He says it was three times.

The whole “grass is greener” thing. I was incredibly happy with him. Or at least high off of the oxytocin from all the fucking. We fucked a lot. We related a lot too, being on the outside looking in. And then of course, music.

My boyfriend and I broke up and he got married so he could live with his girlfriend in Germany. We were on-and-off for some months after we broke up… bad fucking idea. It ended up revealing how ultimately sex-driven we were.

(9.5 years later, we got back together. 1.5 months ago he reached for the meth pipe.)

Most of my fantasies in graduate school revolve around finding someone to study with, and under.

Should I back off? Like I want to be friends, I am more than happy to be friends.

But I don’t want to talk about math all the time, or even most of the time, at least not right now. I have no other math things I want to discuss.

I want… to talk to you. And to hangout with you. And I like that.

But it’s like…

FUck I just want a friend here. Someone to share this with. And I Fucking had James and…. James is not my friend. I don’t know what James is to me. I don’t really know my relationships with anyone. Again, I’m a ghost.

That should be my Halloween costume. I need to switch majors before I Fucking suicide.

I capitalize FUck a lot.

I envy Doja Cat. I’ve never felt envy like this before. Apparently it’s a deadly sin. She represents a part of myself that I’m not tapping into.