This is not a recipe.

Bucatini no. 9 boiled in lightly salted water for 20 minutes (it was supposed to be 15 but 15 was not enough for this kind of pasta). While it was boiling, I prepared tomato sauce. First, I stir fried 4g of sliced garlic in a bit (more than a bit, if I have to be honest with myself) of sunflower oil (the oil came all the way from Russia, or maybe not, probably it was a country where people also speak Russian, who knows). When the garlic started to infuse the kitchen with its inviting aroma, I put in tomatoes, and I stir fried them all together with red sugar and Himalayan pink salt. And then, to finish, I poured over the mix some hot water. I waited until the sauce got thick, and then I turned off the heat. The sauce should be put aside while the pasta was being cooked, so I began to deal with the chicken. When I bought the chicken breast from a supermarket, I didn't know that I would use it to make spaghetti. The plan at first was just to boil it and I could just consume it plain, or with some spicy sauce. But it did sound boring, did it not? Because it did, and eating food like that makes dieting so much harder than it is supposed to be. And living a life like that would be the same as living a slow-dying nightmare. 

Why am I rambling about cooking spaghetti? 

Because it's a sign of getting back to life.

I've been living like a person who has given up. I've stopped taking proper care of my skin, my body, my shape, my hair, pretty much everything. I've nearly disowned my appearance, i.e. my pride, my source of life. And for what? For what, I asked. The answer has revealed itself but I've refused to see, because I'm afraid, I'm terrified of seeing the true terror, the ugly truth about myself, me, no one else. A dark matter. A crawling low-life no-eyed creature that lives in the deepest layer of the Earth that's willing to die just so it doesn't have to stand under the fair sun. Because I know that I will burn and that I deserve it. 

I've betrayed myself. For nothing.

I've committed an act of violence against myself. 

What's the worst thing that someone can do? It's not killing a human being. It's not murdering your own parents in cold blood like the way Ed did (well, technically, he didn't axe down his parents, just his mom and his grandparents). It's not abandoning your pet. It's poisoning - poisoning your own damn self and making excuses for it. 

I died in vain. Even the most merciful God has to look away.