The weight of the world strikes me all at once. In fits of anxiety, I fear death the most, trying to hold onto what I have. Hungry and leaning forward, I try and wait to eat, to take advantage of my dissatisfaction. Food sickens me, even—as a threat to what I am right now, adding anything might change it. Like everything depends on this moment, and there will be nothing soon after. I become more serious and careful about my survival, thinking now that it is important to go on living, if there is to be more in the future of what I am experiencing right now. I think of going outside, but worry about what dangers lay in wait there.