I’m 20 years old. I’m a level II nursing student. I deal with death on the occasional basis. Watching someone draw their last breath and having to keep a face of stone but on the inside, I’m crying. I cry for those who will never have an opportunity to truly live- Infants born to mothers who are more interested in the crack that they are more effectively injecting into their veins than I am at starting an IV. More tracks laid on their body than a rail-yard. I was diagnosed with depression when I was 13. Admitted to a psychiatric unit after attempting suicide. I was brutally raped only a few weeks before. Sadistic rape is what I now know it is referred to as- in the ER. A virgin and rather small for my age, he was aggravated because he was unable to penetrate me. Out comes a pocket knife. He effectively gave me an episiotomy then had his fun. Jump forward. When I turned 18 I had to file a restraining order against my boyfriend of the time for putting my head through the front door. To be fair, our problems were months old. He began drinking… a lot. It was New Year’s Eve, again, he was staggering drunk. Angry because of my sexual dysfunction, my face went through the door. I ended up with a moderate concussion and a retinal bleed. Again, jump forward. June 29, my mother ended her life on a hot summer day. Depression is a generational curse that my family endures. She fought so hard to preserve my life, that she often neglected her own demons. She shot herself through the chest with a .380. She was my best friend. My confidant. The person that I called when I was aggravated with school, friends, and the person I shared my joys and triumphs with… She held a large portion of my heart. When I was a senior in high school, my father’s back was broken in a car accident. This was a man who had only missed two days of work in 20 years of employment. I thought he might grieve himself to death. I took on two jobs and completed high school as an honors graduate. The bills stacked up. We were all stressed. I brought in a tiny abandoned puppy one night. He is now just as much a member of my family as my brother and I. Since my mother died, I have been taking pain medication… constantly. A pill every few hours just to feel a spark of euphoria. I know it’s chemical. Not real. But I need it. I need happiness that I’ve never truly felt. I want out of this life. Don’t get me wrong. As a student nurse, I get joy from holding a new mothers hand or relieving a stranger’s pain. All I want out of life is to help others. I’m just tired of seeing the evil of men. A Hep C positive woman breastfeeding. And we can’t stop her. She’ll kill her babies. Not only is her milk poisoned with a virus but is excreting crack. This is the evil that I cannot tolerate. There is nothing worse than hearing a baby scream in pain from stimulate withdrawal. I wish I could just take a break from life but it keeps hammering me. I’ve been on every antidepressant, benzodiazepine, and antipsychotic in the book. Nothing helps. I wish I could just fall asleep and never awake. I don’t want to evidently take my own life. That would further destroy my injured father and my 16 year old brother. I’m tired of holding it together.