Never a dull moment in this line of work

I work in a hotel.
You see some things, working in a hotel. Drugs, alcohol, needles, diapers of all stripes, mayonnaise on the ceiling (don’t ask, I still haven’t figured that one out). There’s rarely a truly dull day. Today I was making my last bed when I stubbed my toe on something very solid. “Somebody leave a weight?” I mutter, reaching down, picking up the thing and
OH BOY WHOO-WHEE THAT IS MOST CERTAINLY A GAT BOY I TELL YOU, YES INDEED THAT IS A FIREARM, IT IS, THAT IS INDEED A GUN
“Shit!” I say, very wisely NOT dropping the very possibly loaded piece as I decide to call my boss on the phone.
“What’s up?”
“I might’ve slightly found a gun.”
“YOU WHAT?”
“YEAH. GUN.”
“DO NOT MOVE. We’ll be up.”
We spend about eight minutes gawking at it before looking up the records and then confirming that yes, we need to call the cops and yes, I’m going to have to give a statement.
Never a dull day there…
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The BDD Demon.

Today, my BDD was out in full force.

Sitting on the bus, a voice in my head repeated: “Fattie. Fattie. What happened? You were so good last week. One piece of toast a day! You can do it again! Maybe half! Do you want to stay like this? Fattie? Look at yourself. Fattie.”

It was all I could do to not scream “SHUT UP!” at the voice in my head.

The trigger?

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a shiny surface.

There is a reason why I don’t own a mirror big enough to see my body.

It took some mental wrangling to get myself to eat when I got home. Hell, I’m still hungry. But I’m also trying to shut that voice up again so I can eat in peace.

I mean, I was too sick to eat last week and the voice HEAPS PRAISE on that

It’s not easy. It’s not simple.

But it’s everyday.

… I better eat so I won’t get sick again.

I almost fainted getting on my last bus. Every movement induces even more nausea than the last. But the most alarming thing was a compliment today, on my weight loss.

I’ve been sick long enough to lose weight enough that it’s noticeable.

I still don’t know what the cause of this is. And it’s not letting up.

___

I managed to find some old nausea pills in the medicine drawer. After fighting with the front, which is jamming the drawer in and falling off at the same time, I had them in hand. Prescription, too—good stuff. Right now I’m praying that it works, and quickly.

My fantasies are occupied with visions of cheese and rice—my go to on a hard day, but in the last few days, an impossibility. I read articles about the aesthetics of food, making notes and experiencing the meal vicariously.

Come on, pill. Please work.