Since this topic is so personal, I will give you some information. My name is Ellen, I am 21 years old, and I live off the edges of the map. Since I was very young, I have been medicated for major depression. When I was younger, it was a casual thing, something mentioned along with the new type of medication to new acquaintances who want to know why I'm a bit off. But in my college year, I began to slip away. My weight plummeted from 170 pounds to 125 as an eating disorder hooked chains in my flesh and stitched lies into my lips. With my body went my mind. Time became a nothing idea, a mathematical rule locked away in irrelevant textbooks. I slip between the cracks, between your fingers, my body is a mirage- blink- gone. The screaming in my head is the truth, your voices are the soundless echoes of a world I left long ago. What is real? You can see the colors that appear to me in black and white. Depression is my lover, she lures me into sleep with soft fingers and a voice that soothes the chaos behind my eyes. But her nails are knives, they are the razor blades that write poems of sorrow on my skin, tell the world who I am- I am- Nothing, no one person, but a tangled mess of screams and agony and a thick thread of sadness. Yank on me, try to separate the knots. My eyes are glued shut There is a body here, a shadow man dressed in silence. He speaks of quiet, of an ending to this, to you, to the choir of pathetic keening- who is screaming- is it me? I can't tell, the shrill shout is strange, an echo It won't stop but his hands offer peace "It's okay... you can let go now," He doesn't speak he breathes, his cold hands outstretch. How long have I wanted for this, this ending, this blackness where the pain can't reach me.... And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what goes on in my head. Every day it is a disturbing play that spins round until I am dizzy. Everyone keeps telling me it will get better.. that it won't always be so hard. But when? How long am I to wait? When I am allowed to give up?