I commit suicide everyday and everyday I survive because I am strong.
I am strong. Doesn't it sound fascinating? I dunno, but I want to believe it does.
I've just got one foot in the grave.
I am a blur of emotions. Panic, nervous, angry, sad... Not a good measure to take.
My fears are keeping me alive. I'm going around with my eyes opened - looking for what? My body, my legs work perfectly – one behind another and sometimes I don't feel anything at all.
When I'm drinking coffee and smoking these are the only real happy times.
My moments of death – I call them – and these nice cuts are just beautiful. I do them when, for some reason, I intend to be alive or feel something more painful than the sorrow inside.
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