Illness

I am out of it. I keep popping expired nasal decongestants and hoping it will all just fade away. I am. Maybe? Am I? Am I just faking it all? Even so, does that mean I don't exist? WHO AM I? My dad died a year and a half ago, last week. It's weird. I had just turned nineteen. Twenty-odd days. Twenty-three? He sent me flowers just before my birthday, and I took them to my father's bedside. Cut off the nose to spite the face, no. Cut off the nose to stop this DEATHLY STUFFINESS? Perhaps.