Thursday, June 3, 2010
5:30 AM. Finished Reynolds’ fifth volume, The Final Years. Reading of that long last act, Papa, the drinking, the drug cocktails they put you on, the accumulating injuries, most notably those received in Africa —
Looking at all that increasingly manic, increasingly depressive behavior —
Looking at self-pitying, and lashing out, and amazingly unconscious behavior (as with Adriana, for instance) —
It can’t have been fun to be around you, and can’t have been fun being you.
Does my suicide still seem like such a tragedy, such a dead-end? The family exit was messy — it was designed to be, of course — but it did get me out of that situation.