Sorry I don’t have much to say right now. It isn’t that anything has changed for me about you. Things are just hard, a lot of really real things. I wish we could talk about them. I understand why we can’t, but it doesn’t make it any easier. My relationships and my addictions were not helpful or healthy but they kept me alive when I wanted otherwise. It was like life support, you’re not really living but it keeps your heart pumping for another day. Do I even remember how to fish myself out of the quicksand gutter? Because I can feel it collapsing all around me now while doctors and pharmacies and insurance all duke it out. I eat less, I cry more. I sleep less, I drink more. My optimism depletes, and my anxiety goes through the roof. And I care less and less and less about what happens to me. Not your problem, but I don’t want you to think I don’t care or I am not trying anymore. I would rather be trying with you than be succeeding with anyone else on the planet. I don’t think you feel that way. And I don’t know if it is that you don’t feel that way anymore or you don’t feel that way yet, but I don’t care because we will always come back around.