So I'm not even onto the first page, and I must admit I'm questioning if I really even want to face my old demons. The next loose paper I've strolled across in the front of this book isn't cryptic; it's about as direct as it can get.
-STYLISH EXITS-
It's a page of 20 ways to die. I wrote this shit... should I reiterate'what the hell?'? Everything from OD-ing to what was called Dynomite Cig, to Scuba Steve, to something involving storming the whitehouse (which wasn't very logical in Europe)... Some of this is just messed up, others are scary because they weren't ideas, they were options. I amost chose Style number 3 (dustless peter pan is what I called it) one drunken night. 4 stories out of my apartment would've done it, if not severly lowered the quality of my life.
So I find myself wondering what kept me from jumping out that window on Via Speranza? Something scared me when I was hanging out halfway, my shirt off in 30 degree celcius weather. That right there is key to my happiness. Then I remember what came to me in that moment; I saw all the missing moments with my loved ones... the ones I ran from. But that's getting ahead of myself. All that time and the one thing that is important, and the one thing that is worth living for was a world away. And that moment was my redemption. Where my long path home began. But then again I'm getting ahead of myself again.
The rest of the loose papers are letters and notes from my sister. 5 cards for my birthday, a few just because, some with photos of us together. I hated the god shit she wrote about, and that she was talking to god about me. But her thinking about me... it helped keep me alive.
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