Sunday August 06th 2006, 11:08 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

Thereís an imminent pressing force surrounding my thoughts and actionsóConsumption. Iíve lost so much weight in the past few months; I hardly eat at all. Well, then where does my money go? Iíve been out of work for the past month, so obviously I havenít had a source of income, but honestly, I donít understand why Iím so poor. Ha. I remember once telling you, wealth is a state of mind, not a financial income. Maybe thatís why I feel so poor these days. My mental health has not been well for the past week. Iím considering seeking professional help, but I canít really afford that either. My doctor prescribed Lexipro for my depression; I doubt Iíll take it regularly. Fuck, listen to all this. I consume myself with my own depression. My body is eating itself, my thoughts are eating themselves, and my bank account is eating itself. This force, this Consumption is gobbling away into my psyche. I donít even want to get out of bed in the mornings Ėunless of course I dream of you, which in case I jump out of bed terrified and confused. I am excited about work starting again next week. I need something to ground me, to keep me from floating away. I talked to my friend Josh last night, about suicide. Itís ironic really. He used to be the one I would convince that suicide was a terrible cop-out for selfish people. Now it doesnít seem that way at all. Sure people will be sad for a while, but theyíll manage. Theyíll continue on like good little Darwinian robots. History uses humanity to progress itself. History is just as selfish as the boy who kills himself. Of course we can talk about this later, darling. Sorry to be such a bore.

-Christopher Robin.

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