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2010-05-11 / 9:26 p.m.

Flight leaves in nine hours and somehow I've to fit in an adequate night's sleep and leave four hours in advance to be there on time. Feels like my case is packed with more prescription pills than too much of anything else, and to be honest, I think there's something growing in my head that's not supposed to be there. That is no metaphor.
I think my doctor's stupid beyond belief but I haven't the time nor the willpower to hash out that whole story right now. I have little choice but to check myself into hospital in a week's time when I get back provided my body hasn't completely broken down by then.
I collapsed twice on Sunday morning in the confines of the bathroom, and I woke up to screams of my horrified boyfriend begging me to breathe, my underwear at my ankles and bleeding more blood than I think I've ever seen.
Sometimes I get insanely scared that I'm dying, and I know that in a sense, we all are - but I think it might be happening for me much more rapidly than most.
Tomorrow, it'll be three whole years since I firstly and lastly attempted to kill myself, and all my brain can put together in regards to the whole situation is, "Oh the irony".

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