The Big Fix Read Online Free PDF Page A

I was angry that he couldn’t see how much I cared for him, how much everyone loved him.
    â€œDo you want blood?” I asked him.
    I picked up a piece of mirror and sliced my own forearm. It was childish. It was stupid. In that moment, it was also effective. He got up to help me as the gash dripped blood onto the floor. I started crying. I was crying my eyes out as I reached to hold him. What could make a person who was so beautiful inside hate himself so much? I cried as I rocked him and begged him to never do something like this again. I cried so hard my eyes were swelling up as the blood crusted on my arm. I didn’t care. Things were spinning out of control. He had to leave. He couldn’t stay, and I couldn’t keep him there.
    Just like that morning after Jeremy left, today my eyes are slightly swollen. Puffy face—such a great look for me. The bags are creeping up like the rolling tide trying to squeeze my eyes closed. I really could use a drink of water. The sink is way too far away for me to manage at this point. Getting up is going to be a long process. Having a hangover would bemore pleasant. At least I could clear that up with some puking and food. This is the aftermath of drugs.
    The last four days have been a blur. I managed to get five days off in a row from my shitty retail job, and I got the “innocent” idea of a little binge to reward myself. I seem to have these binges more and more since Jeremy left for San Francisco. Now, I am hanging on by a thread to my “normal” life. I am struggling to drag myself up, here in my apartment across the street from the university campus. I suppose classes are going on right now. I haven’t been there in a while. School is seriously getting in the way of my partying. I used to be able to snap back from these overindulgences so easily. As I get farther away from my friends and family, things seem to be getting harder and harder. I don’t even know who I am anymore. This latest celebration started with a few shots at the bar and ended up with needle marks all over my hands.
    There had been a slow transformation in my last few years of high school. As an overweight food addict, I had been on every diet possible. Finally, when I was sixteen, one diet stuck. I lost enough weight that people began to notice me as more than just the subject of ridicule. I began to feel differently about myself. Although I had hated being fat, fat was a place where I felt secure. Food provided me with a brief respite from my anger and anxiety. I shoved my feelings down with every bite. Then, after nearly a year of dieting, I was looking for something new to make me happy. Young men were a disappointing substitute. I tried writing poetry in notebooks that had stickers of my favorite bands peppering the covers. I started listening to punk rock music.My neon purple sweaters switched to all black clothes. My Duran Duran poster soon sported the symbol for anarchy over the delicious eye of John Taylor. I was searching for my identity with little guidance and tons of confusion. Most of all, I was bored out of my skull preparing for college. I could not wait to get somewhere else so I could be someone besides myself.
    If I smoked, now would be a good time for a cigarette. I hate reflecting on my behavior. Fuck that. I am not sure what else could help me get my day started. I look around at my scattered belongings. Where is my wallet? Surely it must be empty. I had just gotten my entire paycheck in cash at the corner store. There was no need to use a bank to cash it. My account is still overdrawn from the last time. My chain wallet is still attached to my pants, which are next to my mattress, which is on the floor. I never bothered to get a bed frame. That would just be something else to trip me in the middle of the night. I pull the wallet over to me. These hands can’t open the snaps on the wallet. I use my teeth to open them. What is in here? Two dollars