Day time does me well. The birds are chirping, the air is breezy & warm, and my fears don’t exist. Light is like my shining knight & armour; I love it like a mother loves its child. When it comes to the later time of the day , I do my best to avoid the thoughts on it, for that is when my worst nightmares come about. I have to force myself to stay awake sometimes; coffee, walking, coffee, walking, coffee, walking. I don’t sleep, I reminisce about better things like family, fun escapades, the good stuff. To avoid confrontation, I stay away from society really; a nice little cottage about 5 minutes outside of my city. My lights never go off -- never. On a particular day though, I thought I was going to die. A terrible storm rolled through and knocked out all the lights. I’m sitting in pure darkness, screaming my lungs out. Nobody is coming -- they don’t hear my screams, nor the pain I’m feeling. I back myself unto the wall and cry, crying for help. The Lord seemed he didn’t want to help me, for at that moment I was asking for my life to be taken away from me. I didn’t want to suffer -- not anymore. My fear for darkness seemed to be minor until I realized what position I was in . I felt I was being punished, but for what? Crouched in a corner, my thoughts were rambling on and on and on. Voices in my head telling me what I should do, what I shouldn’t do -- STOP! After the last few tears roll down my cheek, I get up and search the house -- why ? Light, some sort of light must be available to me.. Brushing up against the wall , taking small steps… the lightning outside seemed to get more and more intense. My heart was beating like a racing car -- on top of achluophobia, anxiety.. I’ve always felt so fucked up. The lightning continued, no light for me was found -- I sat where I was and cried -- cried for hours. I put my body into a ball-like position and -- just cried. It seemed the storm wouldn’t leave anytime soon. Screaming and crying for help , but no one is coming -- no one can hear me -- no one can help me. “God where are you!” I’ve suffered for 22 years -- with these disorders, no one can help me. My mother tried to help me but she gave up on me one day -- she got tired of me, and my mentality. She could barely handle hers. The last lightning strike was one which made my head turn. The light reflected to my set of knives on the counter-top. The thoughts in my head began to torture me again -- no more. With more tears rolling down my face, I reach to grab a knife …………… no words are said but thoughts, all they are is thoughts… To satisfy myself, I do what I’ve feeling for the longest. My life has been taken.

By me...