I've been up for too long, now it's time to come down. Maybe face that the ideas weren't really that good and wouldn't have made me rich! (Grandeur!) Return to my natural state of ink and guitar strings and broken drumsticks, and tears, so many tears as tears on the pages, and I am still unable to cry. Have no doubt though, they are there. I'm withdrawing, pushing friends and family away, it has begun. I'm agitated. Always. I wake up ready to scream because even when I'm asleep I can't sleep and my dreams are of guns and terror and fear. I run, but my body is not trained well enough to run fast and far enough to pull this thing out of me. I'm scared. But I will make it through, knowing the next high is just one low away.