She's still doing it, pushing me into situations I can't handle, making me cope. She knows I can't cope.

With determination and purpose, I head into the light.

Who becomes you? No one. No one should become me. When I die, I don't want my body or soul inhabited. I wouldn't wish me on anyone.

I don't have to answer. Until you know the question.

I have no intent. I have no reason to live, that's all. When I'm gone, I don't want to be remembered.

Sometimes I'd catch myself looking at my reflection in windows and wonder who I was. Where I was going. Then the image would change and it wouldn't be me, just some nebulous shadow person.

Sometimes I felt as if there were no tomorrows, that everything, my whole life, was crammed into one long day. A continuous stretch of meaningless time. Sometimes I even wished there was no tomorrow, if this was all I had to look forward to.