They scheduled another MRI to see how fast the tumor was growing, to be able to tell me more accurately how much time I had left. I doesn't really matter, what would a few more months or maybe years really do for me? I was dead no matter what.

I'd love to say that the certainty of my imminent death opened my eyes and made me pledge to spend the time I had left meaningfully, like you see in the movies. People making a bucket list, taking risks, vowing to really living their life. But this wasn't a movie and this was me, after all. Me who rather spends her free time in front of my laptop, binge watching TV shows, than doing something meaningful with her life.

Knowing when I was going to die didn't change anything about this, it actually made it worse. What good was studying now? I wasn't going to be able to do anything with my degree anyways, not just because it was in English. Why bother doing anything if it would all be worthless in the end? So I spent the next days hauled up in my dorm room, watching years of television in the span of hours and eating only what didn't need to be cooked or prepared in any way, so mostly junk, or nothing at all. I thought about starving myself to death, ending it on my terms, but I was even too lazy to be self destructive. Also watching cooking shows didn't help.

Having a broken nose gave me an excuse to stay in. I didn't tell anybody about the tumor. The last thing I wanted was for people to feel sorry for me, or tell me what I should do with the short time I had left. I'd rather have people ignore me, call me lazy or stupid for wasting my mind on TV shows. It made me feel normal, healthy. I hadn't even told Tobias. Why would I? I didn't really know him. What good was it to tell him? It wouldn't make me or him feel better. It was best to leave him out of it, to leave everybody out of it, the fewer knew, the fewer were going to get hurt. It was easier that way. Why hitch someone to a wagon that was doomed to crash? Why get them hurt? It was better for me to be alone, for everyone.

The bad thing about binging shows was how fast you ran out of them. There were only so many food-themed series I could watch and right now no other genre appealed to me. I didn't want to bother with other peoples problems right now. As far as I was concerned, they could all fuck off.

Once I ran out of things to watch I was left alone with my own mind. My sick, broken mind that has decided to kill me, beyond the depression, anxiety and eating disorder, which hadn't finished the job fast enough, apparently. I was also running out of excuses to skip classes, a broken nose only gave you so many sick days before you had to go back to studying.

Needless to say my class participation dropped significantly and so did my attention. All I did was sit there, starring at the wall, keeping to myself. Most professors ignored me, I'd done enough to pass already, plus my face still looked quite bad, so they left me alone. One did get angry at me, told me off for not doing the required reading. I was fine with that, I knew how to deal with angry, what I couldn't deal with was the one professor asking me if everything was alright. She'd called me to her desk after class and with a very worried look addressed my recent behavior. I could feel the tears coming, the knot tying in my throat, making it harder to swallow, to talk. I didn't want to react this way. What was wrong with me? I hadn't been sad before. Why the hell was I acting this way now? I apologized for not paying attention, blamed it and my teary eyes on my broken nose giving me headaches and fled the room as soon as she let me.

I didn't go back to my room, having spent the last days cooped up in there, it was the last place I wanted to be right now. My feet had led me to the library before I realized where I was going. I walked past the desks all the way to the back of the building. I disappeared between the high rows of books and broke down. Balled up on the floor I let go, let everything out, all those hours of avoiding being sad, holding back those tears. I tried to muffle my sobs by pressing my scarf to my face, ignoring the pain shooting up my nose. By the time I'd calmed down my scarf was soaked and I felt empty.