And, somehow, here I am again.

Not exactly sure how to leave this place. Not Xanga, but this place in my life.
Depression is a drug that creeps up behind me and throws a bag over my head.
I cannot see, I cannot breathe, I can only exist before the last breath is exhaled.

Things are particularly bad right now.
And let me tell you, correcting all that’s gone wrong is like putting a bullet directly into my fucking brain.

Precisely.