repulsion 6 / room 2

i have wasted myself. i have turned myself into something i can not control.  i am dwarfed, minimized by everything around me.  i am scared of what is going to happen next.  any unpredicted movement, any sound i have not anticipated, terrifies me, lessens me.  there is a pair of scissors on the desk in front of me.  i am picking them up, opening and closing them, pressing the rings of metal against my bone.  i am sticking my finger into the blades of the scissors and squeezing as hard as i can. they are dull.  they will not cut into me.  it does not hurt, it throbs, reminding me of the existence of my hand, which disgusts me.  i hate my body more than i hate the objects and events that rub aginst it.
i do not despise the condition of my life as much as i despise the existence of my flesh.