That's the line of some song or something from sone artist i don't know.

WINGS! That's it. I caved and googled it. It's amazing how many misspellings I can make (including the word misspelling) and even more amazing how many legitimate words google doesn't know, but the word "googled" is typed freely without red squiggly under it. (squiggly is now a word?)

It's going to sound fucked up, but writing a suicide note, or letter in my case, more like an essay or long-ass book is therapeutic. Seriously it is. I haven't even begun but merely the thought of it, and merely the thought of the reasoning behind HOW it's therapeutic is awe-inspiring. Will I off myself? Not at this very moment, I have thought about it, more so in the last few months than ever before. More in the last 6 hours than ever before. But taking a reference from a Carlin skit, one of his last specials... As an artist, they'd never kill themselves because their suicide notes would never be finished. (I'm paraphrasing) As an artist, a note would turn into an essay and then a book. I'd mull over each detail and write to everyone I've ever met in my life before I offed myself. So on that aspect, I'm safe. On the other, which is the, "fuck it all" aspect, I am not.

So much shit, not enough rope. I sit here drinking and I am going to begin writing my suicide letter, manifesto? to sadistically, but perhaps therapeutically bring me down from the ledge I am on. As fucked as it sounds, writing it might be the best medicine for me.