"I sit on my bed. The insomnia's gotten to me, once again. it always seems to when my mind wanders and doesn't have distractions. Sometimes, not even the herb helps. As I sit, I think, and my mind wanders to those dark places.

Those most unpleasant of places.

"it's easy..." that little voice says to me. I listen close...

"Do it."

"It's simple. They won't even care."

"There's probably a razor sharp enough somewhere."

"Mom has pills in the cabinet."

With the voices comes the thoughts. Thoughts of failure. Weakness. I can feel the warm, unpleasant and stinging tears in my eyes, and I feel them trickle down my cheeks and stain my furred face. All without so much as a frown, or any trace of noticeable emotion.

Just another night with the silent killer, I suppose.

It hasn't gotten me. Yet.

I pray to the gods it never will."

---

So my past week or so has gone to shit. I was kicked out of my previous home on an illegal eviction due to an old family friend showing her true colors. She claims me to basically be Satan himself, along with a dog-fucker due to my furry status. Not only that, but my mother is rather abusive and threw a huge fit over something ridiculous the night before - An Xbox controller, of all things.

It's been making those thoughts creep right on back into my head. I seriously need therapy, or else I fear I might do something stupid.

The things that keep me alive though that I always think back on are the Furry fandom. You all have kept me alive and kicking as much ass as I can, and I have found more community amongst my fellow furs here than anything, as well as my father, and the good friends I have made through the fandom.

You all keep a furson alive. I mean it. You, ALL of you, keep someone alive and wanting to live. You ALL are heroes. Thank you, all, for saving me time and time again.