I didn't do anything fucked up to myself. Well, that's not exactly true. Drinking and smoking cigarettes are fucked up things. They just are. I need to quit it. I really, really do. Things are bad here. They're really bad. They got unbearable. So unbearable that I actually asked Rambo to please let me ask somebody to help me. And he did. He let me. I called the RAINN hotline. I was on hold for a really long time, I was finally cried out (for real - the body cried), and then I started hearing from Rambo. "There is no one. We're on our own, just like before. You'd better hope they do exactly like it says on their website instead of capture the phone number with caller I.D. and put us on some nutjob registry or call the cops to come round us up and throw us in a hospital because there was a crisis. It's bootstrap city, baby. Suck it up. Only difference between me and the others is that I'm smart enough to know it. It's safer this way anyway, and you know it, too. And you don't need the goddamn beer and cigarettes, either. You got me. I'm serious that you need to stop that shit. It's bad for the body, Jenny doesn't like it and it's bad for everyone." Then there was finally a ringing on the line to put through the call to an actual person. Suddenly, I could no longer understand the feelings that had caused me to make the call in the first place. I hung up the phone. I'm trying not to worry that there will be repercussions. Rambo says what he says because it is what he has learned in real life. He's not paranoid, he's just been paying attention. How very fucking sad.