well, against my will until my wife dialed 911. then i figured hey, suddenly this seems like a good idea.

six hours of cops and doctors and i didn't make eye contact, i don't think i saw one face. they're all very sympathetic when they can see that look on your face.

the hospital is dull and uneventful and easy to get too comfortable with. it was only three days and i honestly miss the lack of responsibility and the regimented routine.

i came out feeling something i've never felt before.

not willing to change, but understanding that change is a process that is available to me.

previously it has seemed stupid, comical when people say change. change! it'll all be okay! fuck off. you don't know how this works. this is gonna get me in the end no matter what.

now i know that half of the things i have done have been manifestations of my illness. making stupid manic decisions like i wasn't even inside my own head, wandering around in a daze, killing myself for nothing, feeling no guilt and overwhelming guilt simultaneously.

now i can see that there are things i am stuck with and things that i just pulled over myself, carried along, layer by layer, weight after weight, for nothing. those things only made me more unwell.

i didn't know i could let go. there are ties i can decide to break and ideas i can learn to shrug off. i can make amends with the people i need around me, and be open and real. i am not scared of myself now.

it's interesting and nice and... something good to know this. even though there's a lot to do.

i know this probably reads corny as fuck. don't worry i'm still weird and depressed and guilty and confused.

you know when religious people self-flagellate? i really wish i could do that now and not have people call the cops and or the doctor.

it just seems like it's a physical example of overcoming psychological weakness, not just penitence but purification. purgare.

anyway i'm not gonna do that.

i still hate february. but this one is okay.