The Time Machine (Full Moon Blues)

As I pedaled up to Whole Foods market, somehow after contemplating that the three days I had spent fasting was enough, besides my almost inability to go anywhere, especially Eōs, plagued by insurmountable anxiety and crippling depression, thoughts of suicide and for the first time in years, night terrors beyond my wildest beliefs, alas, and to my great relief, a planet fitness seemed to glow in the otherwise dreary desert surroundings—without much thought, as I was already headed in the direction of Whole Foods, I turned my bike around swiftly, parking it outside of planet fitness, and strutting inside as if I owned the place. I knew the answer, but still asked Amanda, the woman at the front desk, if she happened to have a trial pass—to my relief, she replied happily “I can give you a day pass., and k forged a smile. At this point, nearly another 48 hours since my last gym session, anything would do. Maybe an hour before Indulging ln what anyone else would call dinner, but for me would be breakfast, after nearing 4 days of nothing but nutrition shakes and leaving me with no energy at all to help reassemble what seemed to be my shattering mind. It must have been the collective trauma of hating Nevada altogether, but I was coming apart; at least blessed with the capability of sleeping in a bed and shutting the door to all else, plugging my ears almost too deeply with store brand earplugs from CVS to drown out the clamorings and drama of my outer surroundings, I encapsulated myself in mantras, attempting for the first time in months to meditate and heal myself from within, without medication—however something seemed to be approaching; I felt as if I was suffocating, unable to speak or move in a normal way, and more sad than usual—lonelier than ever, and though I had many options, all of them paled in comparison by far, to any of the men I had admired at all, as of late.