I am reckless and careening. How I cannot stand this. How much I just want to go–into anything. How little faith I have. How much I feel very strongly that I just don’t care. And also that so much care. I want to get rid of myself. But I want to not get rid of myself. But I just don’t understand. I turn to I don’t understand often. It might not be true. It might mean something else, but I don’t know what it means. How safe my tool makes me feel. How I try to choose a not usual method– if it isn’t what I “really” do it will be ok. All the bad things I believe about myself. How I don’t really believe them. How I still just can’t stand this.