For over twenty years I've been suffering from a sickness, an illness of the mind. With every sickness there are individuals who, despite all efforts, just become overwhelmed, succumb to its effects and are lost. Mine is a rat’s nest of borderline personality disorder, avoidant personality disorder, acute anxiety disorder, panic disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder and major depressive disorder. This is a sickness that can no longer be staved off – and it is about to outrun me. Since at least age thirteen (I'm 34 now), I’ve been watching and exploring, trying to find my place, my worth. It has been my incessant quest. I've sought it with the help of God, family, teachers, psychotherapists and doctors, and with the occasional step into the larger world. But two issues: first is that the things that have come together in my life had become more vast and unwieldy than anyone could do anything about, at least not without getting swallowed up themselves; second and most prominent is that, when it comes down to it, no other person ever has the power to provide an individual with his worth because it is a personal, unique thing. In my exploration, one thing seemed blatantly clear: this is a social world. In other words, it is our relationships that are at the heart of our existence. For over twenty years, things have been gathering to show me I will never have a capacity to have any healthy relationships. But more significantly, it is my experience that I am draining a vitality out of way too many of those around me; I am a parasite, defiling those who come too near me. I seem to do this without even trying. And, for as many years as I can remember, I noticed the behavior needed of me is to remain quiet and recognize my place as a peon, a subordinate. Whenever I feel a deep hurt and I speak up, I am steadily dismissed and/or shown that I am actually causing hurt to another, and then disciplined. No matter what I say, I have never been heard. Each day I rise, I feel a persistent and undiminished agony of being alone, for I carry an awareness of being an alien in this world, a foreigner speaking a language that no one can understand. There were a few who had the opinion that I should not view myself in these ways and they walked with me, for a little while, in attempts to help me find out whether such opinions were true or not. When events got too personal, however, when my parasitic nature had depleted too much from them, they understandably had to step back out. With an awareness that this is a world about relationships and that I am a defiler and that I will never have a capacity for healthy relationships, I find my worth to be barren. Ultimately, it is more practical for all that I be quiet - the ultimate quiet. Also, I lack an ability to trust and I lack courage. The lack of these traits is probably one of the bigger obstacles to integrating my illness into my life; having consistent, healthy relationships; and finding my worth. I simply do not feel safe in this world at all; I am afraid all the time. Lastly, I am tired. Have you ever been involved in an activity where you thought to yourself, “I just can’t wait for this thing to be over already!” That is how I feel about my life. After trying to find my worth for over twenty years and not only coming up empty-handed, but finding that I consistently depleted from and defiled the lives of others, I am tired. I am just so tired. The psychotherapists don't believe me anymore and I don't trust any psychotherapists and doctors anymore. I've told people outright I want to die and that I have plans and I have been practicing, researching, making sure as best as possible that everything will work out. But no one believes me. Everything....EVERYTHING....is coming together to tell me it is time to go, that it is my only option. I don't "want" to die, but all evidence shows me that it is the only practical and, dare I say, loving decision I can make is to end my life (given what I've described about my lack of worth and 20 years of evidence that I deplete from and defile the lives of others). People might "love me" – but I’ve lost my capacity to accept it or to love back, without my sickness tainting it.