I just took a whole handful of sleeping pills. Don't worry - it's not a suicide attempt nor a cry of desperation or help. I just need to sleep. I've done this before. I swear I will wake up tomorrow. Temazepam doesn't kill you, it just lets you sleep. I know this because I've looked after many a suicide attempt and know what does and doesn't work. I looked through my art folios for the first time in a year. A year. It has been too painful. I couldn't do it because I knew I no longer had the energy nor motivation to do what I did in those two years. But fuck. Why didn't I realise that I was GOOD? Fuck! I am wide eyed and my heart is beating fast, and my breath is coming out quickly. I started slowly, folding over piece of paper after piece of paper. And then it started - this dizzyingly confusion as I stopped looking at it as my work and seeing it as art and thinking 'fuck. I did this. I drew this.' My fucking hands did this. Once, I was capable of conceiving this, and it fucking worked. And. I can fucking do it again. And I'm so unbelievably terrified, because suddenly all I want to do is pull my easle out from the wall and stick up these half finished scribbles that I thought were crap around the walls to inspire me. I look at those half finished paintings in the corner and suddenly I know how to finish them. All at once. I don't fucking know where to begin. And so I took the sleeping tablets.
