This isn't a real suicide-thing. This is probably one of those cry-for-help things.
I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.
I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every Panda that wouldn't screw to save its species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all the French beaches I'd never see. I wanted to breathe smoke.
When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake.
