I am writing this under appreciable mental strain, since by tonight
I shall be no more. Penniless, and at the end of my supply of the drug which
alone makes life endurable, I can bear the torture no longer; and shall cast
myself from this garret window into the squalid street below. Do not think
from my slavery to morphine that I am a weakling or a degenerate. When you
have read these hastily scrawled pages you may guess, though never fully
realise, why it is that I must have forgetfulness or death.

- H.P. Lovecraft - Dagon