A strange night seems to be in the making. In my nightshirt and prepared for sleep I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and promptly had a massive anxiety attack; heart pounding, stomach pain, stiff joints. I'm determined to finish Yukio Mishima's novel, "The Temple of the Golden Pavilion." I'm so fascinated by the life of that man. There's a good movie about his life floating around out there.
I'm too philosophical.
I sometimes laugh to relieve tension when in social situations..."nervous" laughter. Not a good trait.
I take this small razor blade that I found in a tool box, wrapped with a piece of cardboard, and I cut into the inside of my left ankle, and cut deeply. I flick the blade down several inches of my leg, and watch as the angles of the void disappear as bloody rivulets emerge. I don't know why I do this.
I'm dependent on prescribed medication. Medication is a wonderful thing.
I should volunteer my flat for monthly Socialist Party meetings, but I'm not going to.
Love you, my darling Linda.