I first tried to kill myself in 2000, and writing about it of course resulted in another fucking award from Columbia.
My drug dealer broke into my apartment, found my phone, called everyone he’d ever heard me talk about, and then finally 911. I’d been thorough.
At that point, it was merely personal problems; we now have systemic ones.
I’m still crashing with a friend but return to the marginally movable trash can tomorrow.
I don’t know what I’m looking for by posting. I just know “not this” is where I’m at in life, and one can only spend so much time with the crisis line.
My parents were in Switzerland at the time, so basically, I ended up with a couple of local friends coming by the hospital, one of whom I’d been friends with for three years who upon entering the room, slapped me hard. “What the fuck were you thinking?” But I also learned to enjoy onions when my editor brought by a burger.
As to the award, like, what are you supposed to do with that in interviews? “Hi, I write well about being crazy and trying to off myself.”