We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,-- This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, It's been a slow and gradual descent. A descent into a hole dug into the ground. I have felt the dirt rub against my skin and felt the quiet dark surround me the lower I go. It was not a conscious choice to lie down and say "i'm done." It was not as if I awoke one day and wanted to die. It's been years of ups and downs. Years of finding myself angry or crying for no reason. Throughout these years people have taken turns wielding the shovel used to dig into the wet earth. It was as if I was predestined to have a grave opened for me by everyone i've met. Each person playing a part. Sometimes I write to myself in phrases only I understand-like i'm in my own world...the world I find when I slip just beneath the water's surface. I lie in my tub and lay my head back. I close my eyes and let myself drift just below the waterline...just beyond the air. I hold my breath until I swear I will explode. Ocasionally I will open my eyes and watch the world in the room around me, white tile and beautiful pictures on the wall. It helps to attach me to two parts of what I'm doing. I see the alive world, and below the water where i'm struggling for breath I feel the beginings of death. I catch myself thinking how warm it is, which is misleading because I know that death is cold- how can it not be. It's so clinical. The world continutes to turn even after you are gone, and even though people carry your memory-you cease to exsist. I don't mind pain, sometimes I welcome it. Sometimes I open my door and pull it inside like an old friend. It scratches me and I bleed, but even the blood doesnt make me feel alive. Even staring in the face of people I love I feel no relief. There is not a moment of contentment in my heart, not a moment of rest in my mind. I suppose i'm a "fighter" considering i've lasted this long. I entertain thoughts, and I get close to that edge...stepping right up to it with my toes over the precipice. I look down and consider the leap it takes. When I catch myself hanging over the edge I grip at the dirt with my hands dug in, but my arms get so tired and my will wants to give in. I want to give up. Seperate my heart, soul, and mind from my body and leave this place. Perhaps where I would end up is no better- but its at the very least different.