Each day is a new chance for an accident. As I walk to work I can only pray within that car that driver that is speeding to this light will forget that it is red and think of me as just street that is supposed to be under the wheel of the car he or she is in, but every time I don’t seem to be that lucky. I see a window as a way out, a gift to jumping. Every time I get in the car I pray for a car to hit me. I pray that I will anticipate that hit just a couple seconds ahead of time so I can take off my set-belt and allow science to take over the rest; I don’t seem to be so lucky though; sad. I feel emptier each day I wake. Each day I have a more difficult time begging myself to get out of bed; I am running out of bribes. Gravity seems to feel stronger for me than others. I just seem to stand there why the world around me passes by. I am twenty-one and I don’t really care. I don’t really care about much except the colors of plants. They are so peaceful, beautiful, and calm; I want to be there. I am losing motivation each day and caring less about what I do to better my life. It all seems to be a waste.

            I always feel so distant from others, and never want to talk with others about how I feel; why the hell would I? I come up to a therapist and explain that I don’t feel anything anymore, my sex drive is nothing, life is dull, my ups aren’t there anymore, and I hate talking with a therapist, and I will be given some drug that will make me forget about it all, but when it is done I am back in hell. I don’t feel I need to be apart of this reality if that is all I can be offered.

            Each day I feel like I am standing a ledge over looking an ocean. In the past the ocean was sparkling and wide, but now it is dark and filled of nothing. The sun never rises anymore for me and the ledge is getting weaker for me to stand on. I debate on walking further back from the ledge so I don’t fall when the ledge gives way, but the idea of moving is dwindling. It is not me anymore in this vessel; I am empty.

            I debate on just packing up everything I have, gather all my money and just leave. Don’t tell anyone where I am or where I am going and just disappear. I think about this hard, but see it as just a way to escape something that will not just go away if I move. I just want to leave so I don’t have to be apart of anything anymore. Just start up somewhere different, don’t talk with anyone, work and sleep. Wait for my body to finally give up so I can be freed from here.

            I don’t cry anymore. I feel it there, but I don’t want to go through with it, I have no reason. I am not sad I want to die, leave, or give up; I see it as victory for me. I am not here, I never was, and I am just drifting through life waiting for something to take me so I don’t have to.