"They are cutting out the Bay ferries but it's still not to late to get lost in Oakland,"Laurence Ferlinghetti wrote. Perhaps it's Lawrence, perhaps it's writes.

Although I had a few half-hearted attempts at suicide, including the almost obligatory wrist slash, I had only one serious attempt. It was with a Buck knife, a knife strong enough to open cans. I figured it strong enough to open my skull. I didn't want much blood, so I tried the temple, figuring that was the weakest point.Babies skin throbs there with every breath.

I jammed and jammed the knife but I was too thick headed to get the job done. This was during my last breakdown, the sixth. I decided (I was almost lucid) that if I couldn't kill myself I might as well quit fucking around and get well. So I went to my landlord and asked him if I could stay and told him to call my middle sister who lived in Maine at the time. My brother-in-law came and I told him I wanted to go to a VA hospital, that NYC hospitals were a merry-go-round.

Done. Togus ,Maine. Plenty of fresh air, trees and fields. And I got medication that cools my rage. I knew Ronnie from a Brooklyn clinic and I decided she was the therapist for me. Back in Brooklyn after a few restful months I saw her. She told me to get a job and I did, but not without protest.