time spent in the shadow of the thing too big to see, rising.

'm a big fan of David Foster Wallace, have been since I was 19 and read Infinite Jest in my dorm room bunkbed with a flashlight. I was really sad to hear how miserable he was the last year of his life. none of the meds worked for him, even the one he had been on for years. having been through a major clinical depression and now living with unending pain, I can only empathize with him.

I hope that if my illness ever gets to where nothing works to alleviate my pain and it's unbearable, the people who love me will let me go.

this is worth reading if you have read anything he wrote.

http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/23638511/the_lost_years__last_days_of_david_foster_wallace#

it's been a rough couple of weeks since I had my hand repaired, but I just have to make it until September. just 6 more weeks.

I've been in the grips of a panic attack or surrounded by wolves or consumed by dread or whatever you want to call it for about a week straight. boredom and claustrophobia and pain and insomnia. incessant thoughts about self-injuring. trouble breathing. I can't stop crying.

I make myself leave whenever I can. usually I go to the lake. I read, I cry, I go home and pace and go back out. I am on the verge of explosion.

at least I have the internets again.