"9:12pm: Practiced for an hour. Feel really dizzy and am bumping into shit and being a wreck. I wish I had more sleeping pills, make myself a bigger wreck. Come on, come on, it’s fun. Celebrating a month without booze with pills. 6 olanzapine and 2 oxycocet. “Why do anything when you can forget everything?” Wish more time had gone by, wish more time would pass. That the pills would hit me. Hit me hard, hit me in the face and make me sleep. I want someone to hit me, repeatedly hit me until I fell down. I want someone to kick the shit out of me."
"1:07pm: I’m in the ICU right now and have been since last evening. Before that I was in a bed in Observation, I think, waiting to come up to ICU because I wound up feeling really bad and telling mom about the pills. I’m at the Queensway Carleton. "
"I feel really depressed. I don’t remember going to bed last night. Everything in my life is either foggy, lost, broken or painful and chemical. I hate myself for it. This is purgatory and I created it. This is my punishment for the overdoses. If I can’t get into treatment at the Royal, I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s all my fault. Maybe I’m not sick enough, I don’t know. Probably not. I mean, I’m not a junkie – I’m just a stupid bitch who drinks. I just had a shower for the first time in days. I’ve either been too depressed, too sick or too Emily to have one. I haven’t written a poem in days. Pathetic. And I call myself a writer? Bullshit."