Friday. Was rock bottom. I lost control. And ranted at my door thinking people, neighbours, authorities, my parents were beyond it. I called Tina and requested her to come to me immediately because it felt like I was dying, capital D dying. Shallow breathing, heart feeling slow, the whole 9. Why? Shroom induced psychotic break is my best guess. Minutes before that a pleasent evening turned unpleasant in an instant. At Flora with HC, fell on the way out launching the box of her half eaten wings across the floor. The day I was having, this is the last fucking thing that i needed. i mean, i never need that, but that level of embarrassment, our waitress and her helping me to my scooter dcfsfffdfgggfgfff god fucking dammit. it wasn't because i drank too much, like 3-4 beers, well within my range. But I hadn't eaten much on the day and fatigue, a string of busy days, spoons... came home and ran to my drugs. this is how (accidental) suicides happen. it felt terribly cliche. i don't know if i would have woken up again if i drifted off on the couch. it would have fucked up arfhhgfggvf anyways..