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.