stomach it.

I push myself into a corner. I'm surrounded by all this junk that made me happy once, but now it's all stacked up and broken. My violin sits in my old computer chair on top of the coat Fern got me for Christmas.
What a nice coat.
He bought me lots of nice things this Christmas. It almost makes me want to cry.

I hold this little ticket in my hand.

Dear you... my love...
On the opposite side, it says "I'll be yours forever."

It's cute, but all at once, I wonder how anyone so young and inexperienced can make a promise like that and stick to it.

I question everything. I overthink and overanalyze things.

I don't think food tastes as good once you really know what's in it, and all the processes it goes through just to get to your mouth and into your stomach.
Is there really a point in knowing all that when it'll probably only affect you for the worst?
And say, when you already know your food has ground up shit in it, do you still eat it because it tastes good, or move onto healthier foods with less questionable content?