I am walking in the rain. It encompasses me, the chill a welcome distraction from my thoughts. I know that I should look for shelter, or warm myself; I know that I am chancing illness by staying here, in the cold and wet.

But still, I walk.

I remember always being enchanted by the droplets. When I was younger, I would absorb myself in the gentle patter, or the thundering noise that it created. I'd try to lose myself in it, to forget the problems I faced. I tried to let myself flow with the rivers, to let my concerns wash away. It never worked.

And yet, I walk.

I'm not sure that there's one main reason for this feeling. There isn't a reason for the emptiness, or the numb, dull sense of nothingness that dulls my senses. I suppose it is a build-up that has happened in secret inside me, over time. It really doesn't matter how it happened, because I don't care. I don't care about anything. I don't want to do anything.

Except to walk.

I never let these things show. I've never revealed to anyone, the pain that I carried with me. I always ignored the bullying and teasing and the remarks that ate away at my confidence, and my self-esteem. Or, so I tried to believe. But every comment, every whisper, every point and laugh killed me inside. I tried so hard. But it was never enough.

And so, I walk.

Over time, I let my sadness build up. I pulled into a shell, a hard personality that lashed out at anyone that crossed me. I told myself that I didn't care, that the people who hurt me deserved to be hurt, themselves. But it didn't relieve me of the pain. Hurting others never caused the anguish and fear to leave me, but only buried it. It lay for years, underneath this rage, this anger, and this desire to hurt. And I knew deep down, that one day it would come to the surface.

So now, I walk.

I walk past trees, streams, roads and houses. I quicken my pace. This is probably the first walk that I have taken in which I have a destination. I continue to walk on, past familiar surroundings, on to the bridge. The bridge where I sat every afternoon, drowning my sorrows in tears.

And I stop.

I can lean over the edge, and feel the spray from the raging river below me. I try once more to lose myself in it, but I fail. I'm not too surprised. There's no reason that I should begin to succeed after constant years of failure. But that is the final loss. I feel the numbness overcome me. I lean further, balancing myself on the rail, tempting fate. One strong breeze would tip me over. But I don't wait. I fall into the water, finally able to lose myself in the waves.

And I will walk no more.