Writer in Exile, day 7

i actually thought of suicide this morning. i think it's the pills i'm on. i'm having this urge to take a butcher knife and carve in my chest, "i hate me" i hope that though passes.

why am i so damn depressed. i'm on the medication. is it the medication that's making me crazy. or is it the drinking, smoking and all the other shit i've been doing. i'm panicking. i'm need to stop. i just ruined another job pontential. i didn't even seen that the person called because i was high the last day and a half.

i need to stop. i was reading up on Amy Winehouse today. i actaully felt sorry for her and then i thought of myself. i feel sorry for me. i feel sorry that i have such low self worth. that i think so low of myself. that i think i'm weak. that i feel so damn alone all the god damn time.

but i'm not alone. i have friends. they care about me, i should stop pushing them away. i have fans. today, i have decided to end this rants with something i like about me.

today i like my hands and feet. i think i have really pretty hands and feet. i'm saving myself for my hands and feet. my hands are typing these words so that the universe hears me. my feet allowing my body to stand and run when i need to. i feel better. i feel better.