- Jan 31, 2019
- White Plains, NY
I'd like to be in Port Charles. Somewhere fictional. Living on a set.
I wonder why people want to live somewhere else, as if things would be better?I want to move to Arizona. Some part of it that is not entirely desert.
Hi,For days, that sixteen seconds has been playing in my head. I wish I'd never started taking benzodiazepines. They've changed my brain so much that I can no longer deal with any reality. I have to stay submerged in fiction and even that's not good enough. I'm suffering everyday. I've got to get away from my psychiatrist. I hope he retires. He's 81. It's possible. I've used these drugs to avoid reality. And I'm paralyzed by the fear of not having them. And by the fear of continuing them. I'm dying either way. Of fear. Just like Martin Brody. The fear of the shark killed him according to his adulterous wife Ellen. She said so in the final film. I found out today that my neighbor from long ago moved to an apartment building a few miles away that I used to stare at all the time while sitting in the cemetery next to it. I would fantasize that a woman named Fuchsia lived somewhere in there and that one day she'd aid in my transition to the other side. But that fantasy is dead. As dead as Jeff Curro's arm in that sling. It's not coming back. I've got a terrible headache today. Terrible. The aftereffects of the miniscule amount of Seroquel, Valium, and Klonopin I took last night. I must have extremely low blood pressure. My pupils were like pinpricks this morning even after coffee. This has got to stop. I should never have been allowed to use benzodiazepines everyday and for years.
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