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There ain’t enough metal in the world for me.

Hey, did y’all know that there’s a serial killer called the texas eyeball killer?

I think he’s gonna become my idol.  Let’s laugh at my insanity and dance around a fire pit while tearing out our own beating hearts.  Sound like a plan?

For a moment there I was typing without spaces and it was the trippiest damn thing I’ve ever done.

Chill day, guys.

Lewis is really fucking excited about what he calls my ‘personal treatment party’.  Basically, because I can’t do medications, he’s been researching all these non-fucking-modern treatments for bipolar… and the shit he’s coming up with is weird as all fuck.  But on to the chill part of my day—he got me these noise-cancelling headphones and some mp3 tracks that have beats at my supposed resting heart-rate, and all I had to do this afternoon was sit there all calm.  That shit it fucking amazing—calmed me right the fuck down.  I was like falling asleep.

Fuck yeah running at one in the morning!

Then throwing up in a trash can for five minutes because that’s what happens when you exircise after thirty or so hours of no sleep!

Haha, everybody’s awake now.  Lewis, Aretha, Wilcox, even Jeremy because Wilcox was a douche and told him what my deal was and he wanted to stay awake and help.

I just need to get my head straight.  That’s all I need right now.  Not tea, not more running (although I want to), not food (ughh).  I just need stability.

But of course, I can’t have it, so Aretha is making me tea instead, no matter the fact that I fucking don’t want tea.

So there it is: me in a goddamn nutshell.  Everybody go home now—the fun of watching William fall apart is over for now.  I’ll get back to you.

My goal is to get myself into bed before four in the morning.

I have no illusions that I’ll sleep (probably just lie there with my headphones on and the volume set to ‘kill on impact’) but I WILL get to bed.  Reasonably.  I think.

I hate mornings.  I don’t want to think about how many paintings I’ve ruined the last few days after I couldn’t sleep and got up at six in a fit of rage.

Don’t mine me here—just fucking loosing my shit over nothing in particular.

Oh my freaking GOD my head hurts.

Holy hell in a harmonious handbasket.  I’ve done literally NOTHING since, like, two o’clock this afternoon but lay here and listen to music, and STILL I feel like I’m dying.

I apologize for not responding to anybody.  Namely Ana and Ricky—sorry guys.  Just having one of those days—did I tell you I’m hallucinating?  At least I hope I’m hallucinating… otherwise there’s about three million wasps tailing me wherever I go.  But it’s no big deal.  Happens all the time.

Anyway.  Just been here on the floor all day.  Can’t sleep, don’t want to talk, can’t do much else—even music is a strain right now, and I don’t get it.  It’s like there’s this well of energy just bottled up inside of me, but it won’t go anywhere, it’s just sitting there behind the scenes buzzing at me.  Hence the wasps.

Anyway.  The werewolf is in the quiet room—he’s in pain from his meds and probably won’t be back for a while.  I, on the other hand, am stuck here.  So I’m going to continue wearing my eardrums down to nubs with my arms thrown across my face, hoping that my heart will collapse.  I’ll see y’all tomorrow, if I’m still alive.

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