Last night I had a dream that Ian Curtis talked to me. I said, “How’d you muster up the strength to tie that rope around your neck and kick that chair beneath your feet. Because I’m not worth the water that makes up my anatomy. And I cannot remember the last time we were innocent.” Sometimes I feel like Ian, that he had the right idea. Well yeah, he lost control, but don’t we all? We don’t remember who we are. Sitting in my mother’s house, these desperate words escape my mouth. There is not a doubt, this must be the only way out.