I can't remember who I am anymore. Maybe this is what two months of poison drip in a hospital does to you. Maybe it's viral mayhem in my brain. I don't understand it, although it makes perfect sense. It's been one slap after another, with the in betweens laced with pain and illness; it would almost be crazier to want to live. Do I want to live? Not particularly. Not anymore. It's gone on for too long and as they say...enough is enough. I quit again and again. I cry again and again. I push myself out of bed, put the blinds up to let the antidepression sunlight float in. I try so hard to do art, to see friends, to do whatever trying looks like but I'm crumpled and damp inside. Infested with it.