And, at long last, the night is silent.  I listen to Vocalise with Yo Yo Ma with my Blackberry and my noise canceling headphones. Another day has passed by like a ghost in the fog.  My mind contains blurry memories of unfocussed thoughts and emotions.  At the moment my chemical seditives are kicking in.  The Klonopin which has become my savior in a yellow pill is making me forget to be anxious.  Music plays in my ears.  Forget...find peace...sleep...bury my worries...hide them so well that I forget that they even exist. There is so much that  I want yet in life.  I want to feel love again without pain.  I want to find the success that I think I'm capable of through my writing.  I want to see the world...to see what great things man has wroght through the ages, and the marvels that nature has created for itself, but that we can enjoy and try to make our own.  I don't just want to see them like a tourist.  I want to experience.  I want to feel them as they are, or feel like they must have felt when they were used daily by regular men. And what makes me think that these things are possible for me?  Hope?  Optimism?  A refusal to quit?  I commit a form of suicide almost daily.  Death by saturated fat.  Some people cut.  I eat.  It makes me feel alive even as it kills me.  I don't want to kill myself.  I want to live forever.  But there is a part of me that keeps screaming, time and time again, that I deserve thiis food...this poison matters not to me.  It doen't feel like it's suicid.   Feeling doesn't matter in this case though. Too much sleepy.  Too much to do tomorrow.  Good night.  i love you all.