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每次写稿的时候,心情都兴奋不起来。记得那天,我站在河边。死去或者活着只有一段距离,比冰还薄的一段距离。我不想活了。我要效仿很多文学界的精英和前辈,这是我的心情压到极端时的悲观。没有出路,就只得如此了。文字害了我,把我困在这个悬崖上,悬挂在半空。望着山下那险,我怀疑自己患了严重的心脏病。高得眩晕,高得恐慌,高得吸不到了空气。这个时候习惯去药店,自己开的方子,买的都是与心脏病有关的药,我以为吃下这些药会好些。事实上没有,胸口疼得很难受。我怀疑自己某个夜晚过去后,会随着黑夜永远地不会醒来。天明的时候,我醒了,醒来的时候居然还做着某个梦。我想哭,眼泪流不下来。我害怕过死。看见枯木的时候,我就希望春天会有奇迹的发生。日复一日,年复一年之后,那棵树连兜都寻找不到的时候,我又不得不相信寸金难买寸光阴。可是面对心脏爆炸的危险时,我才发现灵魂很难左右肉体。
Every time you write a manuscript, the mood is not exciting. I remember that day, I stood by the river. Dead or alive only a short distance, a bit thinner than ice. I do not want to live. I want to emulate the elite and predecessors of many literary circles. This is the pessimistic attitude when my mood is extreme. There is no way out, just so. Text hurt me, trapped me in this cliff, hanging in mid-air. Looking down at that risk, I suspect I had a serious heart attack. Highly dizzy, high scared, high enough to draw the air. This time used to go to the pharmacy, opened their own prescriptions, are bought and heart-related drugs, I thought it would be better to eat these drugs. In fact, my chest hurts so badly. I suspect I will not wake up with the night after a certain night has passed. When dawn, I woke up, when I woke up actually doing a dream. I want to cry, tears can not flow down. I am afraid of death. When I see dead wood, I hope there will be miracles in spring. Day after day, year after year, when the tree can not find a pocket, I have to believe that inch of gold hard to buy inch of time. However, in the face of the danger of heart explosion, I found it difficult for the soul about the body.