I’m supposed to write. Write, and not hurt myself. Not entertain those life ending thoughts. Ha. So here I am, writing about it instead of doing it. I suppose that works. However, I can’t think of a damn thing to say. What is there to say when you are this hopeless and lost? It’s hysterical really. Talk about it, release it, get it out- they say. Um, alright, but you won’t let me cope when I do. How do I pull myself together when my usual needle and thread have been forbidden? Tell me to dive into the mess, but don’t throw me a life vest. Perfect. I’ll just tread water here a bit and hope the undertow won’t take me down.