Many nights, I would begin the evening fueled by caffeine and nicotine, which I needed to propel me out of torpor and hopelessness - only to overshoot into quaking, quivering anxiety.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
The day I pitched, I would drink either 'cause I was celebrating or I lost and couldn't sleep.
If you woke up each morning, and immediately dwelt on your ills, what sort of a day could you look forward to?
At midnight every night, I would methodically leave the house for a couple hours' walk, come back in, and record. And then the sun came up. If I had done something good, then I'd be happy and go to sleep.
I have an addiction to caffeine.
I was scared of the dark. Ohhhh, I'd do anything not to have to sleep on my own. I'd get in bed and cover myself with dolls and teddy bears.
Sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life.
I'd be totally exhausted by mid-afternoon, and I could barely climb the stairs at home. It was particularly alarming because all my life I'd enjoyed doing all my own stunts in shows, taking on every physical challenge. Yet suddenly, I'd become like a very old man. I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea what.
One night, I lay awake for hours, just terrified. When the dawn finally came up - the comfortable blue sky, the familiar world returning - I could think of no other way to express my relief than through poetry. I made a decision there and then that it was what I wanted to do. Every time I pulled a wishbone, it was what I asked for.
With the fearful strain that is on me night and day, if I did not laugh I should die.
Restless, and in desperate need of adventure, I quit my job at an insurance company to travel west with a couple of guys I smoked pot with, scandalizing my family.
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