Wednesday Morning, March 21st

Alive. Overdosed.

Two days of agony with withdrawal. No sleep. Sweaty. Achy. It's like my organs are rebelling. Eyes too. Sometimes brain. Nausea.

I could have died.

I feel a sense of quietness at that, but not fear. It doesn't.. disturb me? It makes me feel.. unsatisfied. I could have ruined everything before the time had come for it. I hadn't even written down last notes or instructions in case of my death.

I really should do that.

Anyways, still need to take ambien for insomnia. Staring at bottle alot. Wondering if I really need this or I've convinced myself and tricked others into thinking I need it. Do I take it? Do I leave it? This thing fucked with me. It's going to fuck with me again. What's worse, insomnia or dependence?

This isn't a livejournal. Not intended to be. But.. if I go, this will have to serve. Last monument to a man who went crazy. Maybe a warning to those who follow. Funny that the fact I could have died doesn't bother me but the fact I might die does. Seconds becomes irrelevant when the next second starts.

Ambien is not for recreation.

Tell me a story. Tell me how someone becomes an addict. They're not born that way. Think. It starts off simple. Go on. It starts with them not an addict. They try it. They won't get addicted. That'll never happen to them. They'll be careful. They're just doing it for fun. That's how your story starts, isn't it? That's how my story starts. It's how it fucking ends.

Anyways, enough melodrama. Time for liftoff. said the astronaut to the rocket made of straw. I know. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. But I've read. Withdrawal can kill. Taper off. Overdose, nothing, one, two. Taper my ass. Excuses. I don't want to. I don't want to die if I take this. I don't want to die if I don't. Rock, hard place. Nothing in life worth having comes easy. Everyone's rolling the dice every day. If I don't take the ambien, there's a chance of my death in the next few days. But then I survive. Chance of death is minimal and drops. At least from ambien. And If I take it, the addiction continues. Chance of death is small but constant.

Have to stop writing. Need.. to lift off. Can't take the black from me.

Felt wrong immediately. Was a mistake. Lift off at 12:15 am. Well. Let's see if I can't score jumanji.

Desire to throw up and/or cry. Disgust. Restraint. Tired. Reading back over words. Train of thought writing is so fascinatingly boring. Random thoughts, words, phrases. Most accurate depiction of who I am, recording thoughts as they come.

Dead man walking.

I can feel it. Spider leg sensations in my brain. Altering my thoughts. Altering my mood. Pain alleviating. Stings. Blurs. It reduces the sharpness of life by applying a giant smudge over me. Ate a piece of bread. Too late, maybe. Should do, next time, if next time, before. Soak up the gastric acids and the dissolving components of ambien. Slow it from reaching blood stream. Not sure what it can do now. But must remember.

It is attempting to initiatie? When I sit down, I feel as if though I have sat in a comfortable position and now the scene shall shift to my pleasure, as if Iwas a commander, The keys ghauntd by needle like beASTFKM;;;L]]

dIS IS NDIS IS MY LIEWE]
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Attempted to continue work on next update. Was interrupted repeadrely by elements of the pobt who insisted on redring things in a certan way and the pont itself was sarcasc as heck is the a word for that? Snide, he was snide. Managed to finish work. Delusions: There were grass-like things entrenched in keyboard. Everything had dusty tenrils of plant on it.the seat could move me places, and I was being watched. Literall,ym people just appear and be there and like ah hey men.

Yea it's wierd.
Controlled in the end. controlled.

Sleepy. Content. Work to do. Work have done. Good test. Contrrol established.