October 25th. Wednesday.
I’m done. I decided this morning. I was supposed to go until Halloween but I’m just done.
I freaked out really bad last night. It felt like I had changed so much. I wasn’t the person I remembered I was. The last 32 weeks of entries may have been some indication, but I am a tad self-obsessed. Particularly with grooming my own presence and personality, I am beyond fixated. Accutane, being the bitch it is, terrifies me, because it inhibits aspects of my personality. Last night, I realized that I might be whittling down the thing I value most about myself. I could live with literally anything else. If I lost a hair follicle every day I was on Accutane, I’d still go through with it. Sure, I’d look like half-Heisenberg by the end, but I could own that. I can’t own foreign qualities in myself. I can’t do it. So I stopped.
Sure, I’m being paranoid, and sure, six days isn’t going to make a difference. If damage has been done, it’s been done. But I’m reaching a point where I’m too scared to go any further. Also, whenever I have a breakout, I write it down. My last breakout was on the 23rd of September. It has been a month since my last breakout. I have met the criteria. I am officially clean. Out. Done.
Now. I have 11 pills left. Oh, the possibilities. It sounds a bit sadistic, but I’ve decided I want to destroy each one in a different and extreme way. Inflict the same pain I’ve felt for the past 7 months upon them. I said I have 11 left. I should have 12, but I went out into the woods and smashed one with a rock. A big rock. I’m planning on burning another one. If I had a firecracker, I’d shove one inside and set it off. I might put one in a microwave. Wholesome stuff like that. Just a nice way to destress and debrief is all. 🙂
It has been 7 months and 10 days. 32 weeks. 224 days. Some unholy number of minutes, and an unholier number of seconds.