Like I wrote before, I am desperate to get out of this house in Essex.
The nastiness is one thing, but my cousin and her attitude to everything is getting to me. More than that, I find I cannot eat. Everytime I eat in this house I get sick.
Last night, after avoiding all food cooked here since last week, and getting by on nibbles and bread, I gave in and had some mashed potato and baked beans… mostly because it wasn’t drowned in oil and fat like my cousin usually makes.
By 1AM I was writhing in agony, a red hot knife skewering my stomach. I held on, drank some peppermint tea and took to anti-indegestion thingies, but forty minutes later I was hunched over the bathroom sink, retching everything out of my stomach.
I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in agony.
This is the first time I threw up, but in truth I’ve been getting that stomach pain almost since I got back to Essex.
My cousin thinks I don’t want to eat anything she cooks and she’s right. Her food is always burnt, always swimming in oil, always cold, always unpalatable and bland.
My cousin and I are not getting on. She’s a bossy, domineering bitch and she’s so fucking lazy it’s unbelievable. I just do not know how I am being so…. so… quiet. Maybe my stomach is paying the cost.
I was sharing a bed with her, but that was sending me through the grinder, because she ran the TV all night and the combination of the sound and the flickering light, has been keeping me up all night to add to my belly pains.
So the last few nights I’ve been sleeping on a couch that doesn’t allow you to stretch out the legs, downstairs in the cold, cold room, where you can see your breath.
Sure she’s pissed off about that too. You just need to blow on her hard and she’s pissed off.
I HATE IT HERE!
I have 80 pence in my pocket. That’s it… not enough to go and get some bread, or enough to do anything with.
80 pence. I think that’s the most destitute I’ve been in my life. I can’t remember being so broke.
There is some good news I guess.
An agency called me about a web editor gig, and I’m supposed to know if I have an interview by the end of this week. They’re interviewing next week. Which is good, because at least it will give me a good excuse to get out here.
In any case, I can’t take much more of this. I need to get out of here, if only so I can eat again with confidence.
I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m just anxious and depressed, broke, hungry and I think I’m getting sick with all this belly aching.
FUCK! I just am getting really sick of all this shit, no joke.
Today, it seems, the last few days to be precise, I have officially gone hungry in England.
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