February 26, 2001: I used to cut into my arms

6:25 am
I fell a sleep last night due one hundred percent to depression. I know in my heart that quality suffers when spending too much time defending. I’m sickened, located should be a better way of letting go. Writing and painting don’t help! I’m here purely out of habit.

8:45pm
My soul hurts—I’m weak! My mouth won’t close—it’s how the air is getting in. I felt it coming on this morning. I thought this would blow away. I can’t take drugs to heal this! I can’t look to a doctor believing he’s got the ability to heal me. I have the knowledge but the damn door is locked!

8:47pm
The heart has slowed—I’m afraid to move. Maybe death has visited—for the soul of my body is incredibly empty. My mind needs rest, yet a true Broadcaster bleeds and continues to walk forward. My heart tells me all too often that it wants to hide from the world. My wallet says otherwise.