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If I were an American Indian my name would be "Falls Apart." It's as if some unseen wrecking ball slammed into the pillar of my soul and I'm eternally crumbling.

We are not our thoughts, you know. Descartes was wrong. These thoughts just flit through our minds and are like clouds, ever-changing. These thoughts are not who we are.

The truth is I'm afraid my words will poison your heart. Because words are not just words. Words have the power to heal or the power to harm. Words have the power to direct you to where you need to go or distract you from what's really important.

So the words I say to you, I want these words to be life-affirming. I don't want to be an agent of lies. I don't want to be an agent of despair. I don't want to add to your darkness.

My boyfriend just walked in and told me that Hunter S. Thompson killed himself. Now all you and I have of him are his words. Can his words get us through a dark night of the soul?