To whom it may concern:

Addressing this like a letter makes it seem so formal. Average. Typical. Monotonous. This is not your normal story. It’s not that perfect little children’s story, or the scene from your favorite play. Nor is it that book you keep on your nightstand.

This- this begins with a sound. A gasp. A word that does not do the action justice. A heavy, rapid intake of air. As if she were clinging onto that last bit of faith. That final moment of existence. Your last breath. And as it slips through her hands, she’s dead already. On the inside.

And a scream. There was screaming in her ears.

The setting around her was ordinary from her position in her bed. Pictures lined the perimeter of the walls. Plain and white. The light from the moon shining through her window. It cascaded in and rested on the floor near her bed. The door that should lead to her escape, closed off from the world. And emptiness lying next to her.

The clock on the stand reads 2:00 a.m. Why had she wakened up? Oh! She’d forgotten to breathe again; that tends to happen sometimes. Figuratively, literally. Those walls around her, crashing in. They closed off her air supply. Her throat constricted, blocking all traces of oxygen to her lungs. When the weight of the world is on your shoulders you can’t help but collapse. No relax, just relapse.

Now take this as you wish, I'm only here to tell the story. But much more before this was just a memory to her, she would cry herself to sleep at night. Bury her head into a pillow, where there was no one there to hear. That big lonely house, there was no one there to care. Raise your glasses because here is where you cheer, "Here's to feeling cold! Here's to feeling alone!"

But let's jump back for a minute to the scream she heard before, because this is where it‘s all set in motion, and the story begins its end.

Collapse.

The shock sets in when she realizes the screaming never really stops. She heard it every time she closed her eyes and recognized it to be her own.

Relapse. Then break.

This isn’t hysteria. That isn’t possible, not without an audience. Except you, my dear reader, you are the audience. But is this hysteria or the truth hitting you blind-sided in the face?

And right now she’s starting to grasp the fact that she’ll never wake up from this nightmare called reality. How splendid though, that distress signals no longer work either. But what can she do? Rationality is out of the question. No, no. There are no alternative options. Nothing will ever change.

Reader are you still with me? I’m beginning to think that you might be fading away also.

Just fade. She’d been fading for a while but there wasn’t anyone to notice. The tide had came in to drag her out to sea, and, oh so willing, she let it do it’s bidding. As she floats away, there might be a glimmer of hope, but she’s tired of searching for it. She’s already lost all hope in herself, so why bother chasing after a lie? And so, the dark waters finally drag her under.

Here, at this semi-comatose state, she can no longer do anything. She can no longer feel, think, or comprehend. Or move. Movement required the willing authority to do so and focus all of one’s energy into possibly one of the smallest actions, such as breathing. So when she pretended she was okay, when she pretended everything was fine, when she moved along and continued the day, when she acted as if everything was normal, she was completely numb. She had no control over anything anymore. Honestly, there’s only so many ways you can explain empty.

Still there? There’s not much left, I swear.

After an unknown amount of time -unknown because she had no realization of anything- she became awake again. And oh, how light looked through eyes that had seen black for so long! It’s like coming out of a tunnel when you’re driving. It seems to be never ending, and minutes pass as days pass and you can’t quite find the end. But with enough time you can begin to see the slightest fragment of light far off in the distance. With that light comes the world. As the world comes back, you are no longer lost, but once again part of life.

So, you want to know how she once again became happy. Cheerful. Exuberant, even. Well, I’m sorry; you will not find that in this letter. This is the story of the downfall and the demise. Therefore, it doesn’t belong here. But maybe, at some point, you’ll see how she rose out of the depths.

For now,

Your Narrator