I don’t really care any more. I want to stay in bed. Everything is a mess. Books are on plates between socks in the drawers. Papers on the floor. I can’t sleep for the clothes and receipts under the sheets. Laundry bag with rubbish in, rubbish bag with blood in. Bathroom floor with clothes on. Clothes with blood on. Boring, boring, boring. All the stitches open and I am not going to fix it. I can’t deal with anybody. People have seen all the worst now and I can’t look at their faces, knowing.