I Guess Writing Is A Kind Of

I Began To Enjoy My Own Generosity; I Felt The Pleasure Of Pleasing Others, Especially As This Was Accompanied By Money-power. I Was Paying For Them; They Were Grateful, They Had To Be; And They Could No Longer See Me As A Failure.

I Can't Sleep With You Tonight, Baby, My Head's All Messed Up, You've No Idea. It's Somewhere Else And It's Full Of Voices And Songs And Bad Things.

How Disturbing It Is That Our Illusions Are Often Our Most Important Beliefs.

All The Same, My Depression And Self-hatred, My Desire To Mutilate Myself With Broken Bottles, My Numbness And Crying Fits, My Inability To Get Out Of Bed For Days And Days, The Feeling Of The World Moving In To Crush Me, Went On And On. But I Knew I Wouldn't Go Mad, Even If That Release, That Letting-go, Was A Freedom I Desired. I Was Waiting For Myself To Heal.

You Don't Stop Loving Someone Just Because You Hate Them.