Brain won't rest. Mental marathon runner. Meds don't work. Alcohol doesn't work. Drugs don't work. Second chances. Third chances. Seven, eight, nine chances. Reruns of the same shitty show. Taken out and played with like an old toy that provides some sort of fucked up nostalgic comfort. Time to collect dust again.
Aside from a few mentions on social media, I've held off on writing about you. Your suicide still seems unreal to me, and yet, also expected. Since our rekindled friendship in 2003, I can recall a few situations where you expressed wanting to die. Granted, those sentiments were much more abundant during the later years … Continue reading Goodbye, Brandita