Bella

Everything on the internet is liable to be fiction. Keep this in mind. 

I’ve been feeling quite awful. My husband, from whom I am separated, served me divorce papers on our anniversary that doubled as the Fourth of July. This wounded me because though I didn’t want to be married, I didn’t want to be divorced. I thought he felt the same. My estranged sister came back into my life and sobbed on my shoulder. I found her annoying and told her we are better off estranged. 

No bookstore in all of Manhattan will hire me. This is fair because I give them no reason to besides a flaccid interest. I am abandoning my family, 3 older and 3 younger brothers, because something in our home is making me sick—I suspect it's mercury poisoning. They keep tuna stocked in the cupboards and I can’t help myself.

I will return when I’m stronger. This will probably be after two months of wallowing because I can’t eat tuna. Some of them still don’t know. I have put it off because it hurts my pride, plus conversations make things pompous. I’d like to return as if only one night has passed. 

I fell in love once and its failure left a gaping hole. I find most experiences are like this. Ecstasy is the feeling of being pierced. Sometimes moments scrape the sides but most of the time they flail in a cavity. Often the whole is never filled again. I’m not describing addiction, but I might as well be. Nothing will ever be as good as my first can of tuna in oil. My problem is after experiencing ecstasy, I fear I never will again. This is not true. It’s proven time and time again. Other holes are pierced. I am a junky, I am, I am, I am. My name is Bella and I’m a junky. I promise new holes will be pierced. I promise. I am right.