Entry 1

     In the past ninety days I have tried to kill myself...twice. I find myself struggling with how to start the next sentence - either with "luckily" or "unfortunately," so perhaps I'll just use both. Luckily and unfortunately, as well as obviously, neither attempt was a success. I am sure there are many reasons for that, with some being more apparent than others, but even the most obvious of reasons keep me up at night thinking about all the "what if's". 

     What if I had just taken five more pills; what if I had just gone back to sleep; what if I could have pushed just a little harder for just a little longer; what if I hadn't told anyone; what if I hadn't made myself throw it all up; what if it had worked?

     It's the questions that keep me up at night. It's the questions that I can't answer, but want to so badly. I don't know if I will ever be able to answer them, but then again, I figure that's kind of the point. Not being able to know or understand everything, because it's the questions that keep us interested, that give us meaning and importance - in life, and death.

     I don't know where this all leaves me, or where, exactly, I'm headed, but I do know that the path I am on, and have been for so long now, is currently facing south.

-CFS