This is the first paragraph of my memoirs. Do I seem to be going somewhere w/this?

I've been well acquainted with every feeling the human pyche has to offer-sometimes within the span of a day. I've been told I'm gifted, I've been told I'm diseased, and I've often believed both. I've lied awake many nights in my suburban home breathing heavily, listening to the sterile air crackle in my lungs, reminding me I'm not yet dead. I've taken enough sleeping pills to not wake up for a century while at the same time expecting to see the sun stick to my window the next morning. I've tried hard to die, but I've tried even harder to live. I have simultaneously been the inmate and the keeper of my bodily prison, a position I wouldn't wish upon anyone. I've been over indulged and at the same time deprived. I've been lit on cocaine, meth, weed, and a load of booze...and I've been sober. On many different occasions I've ****** many different men; each of which resulted in me getting ****** far more than I bargained for. Obviously, everyone has a story. This is mine.