I feel this hook dug in my chest and it keeps dragging me to the depths of insanity. I feel it drive me towards despair and anger, frustration and disappointment yet I cannot pry it away. It produces these insistent feelings that no amount of physical torture could ease. It gnaws constantly, so frequently, that I find myself clawing at my chest in the hopes of curing myself by taking away the source of this pain. I find myself in the confinement of the comfort room trying to throw up all that hurts, all that weighs me down and all that makes me sick. 

And it makes me sick. 

It makes me want to scream so loud until I can choke from me the very air that’s been keeping me alive. It makes me want to beg for the help I dare not ask from anyone else but myself. It makes me want to write on these tear-soaked paper and yellowed walls I’ve sought comfort in until the blackness of the ink is replaced with the redness of my own blood.

I want it all to go.

I want to just walk away. To never look back again, to cease the desperate running and to tune out the noise outside and inside.

Is that too much to ask?