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I was stuck, half standing/half sitting. Knees pressed forward by the edge of the seat. I was panicked, what if I never got out of here?

Rows and rows of people stuck in this grimy tube were crammed around me. We were all smelly and matted because of our journey. Is this how it ends? The one aisle that led to the one exit was blocked with sad humans who had tried to escape and were now caught in the throngs.

Every where I looked people were yelling, screaming, shoving, cursing, sneering. The one person I knew, who stood behind me was sighing deeply. I think she is my sister. Fear had clouded my knowledge, my memory.

All I knew was survival.

I had to get out of here.

Finally the aisle began to move, a slow trudging journey, in a despicable straight line. Belongings dragged behind, or carried on backs. Children looked with wonder around them, some cried, I agreed with them.

As my possible relative and I stepped into the mob we kept our heads low and voices quiet. Authorities lurked behind us, ready to tear us to shreds or throw us in a different prison if we got to suspicious. We passed a slightly better looking section of cages. Perhaps people who were good got a better choice in their imprisonment.

At last we reached the front of the cylinder death space. The prison ward smiled, no sneered, at us. Her teeth gleaming, so white that I couldn't look at it. How did something so clean end up in a place like this? Her blue hat tilted sideways, and she patted me on the back as walked past.

I froze, what now? Would she throw me into a worse place than this? Would she eat me? I turned around slowly to face her, to face death.

She smiled again, wider if it was possible and said,

"I hope you had a wonderful flight!"

Through the snow.

She wasn't there.

Good, no explanation was needed. I scribbled on a sticky note and laid it on her desk, letting her know that I would be in the library way past when she went to bed. She wouldn't question that. I had been going more and more often so that this wouldn't look suspicious. Just another study night.

I went to my closet, got my thinnest coat and boots then walked back out the door.

I left my keys and my phone sitting on the desk.

I walked down the stairs and out the back door. It was freezing outside. The snow was blowing in my direction and my boots slumped through a foot of snow.

I walked till I couldn't see anymore, the snow was too thick and at 12 p.m. all the lights had been shut off.

So I sat down in the snow.

My thin sweat pants were instantly freezing, and my hands, that were laying on the soft powdery covering, began to lose feeling.

I took my snow boots off and laid them next to me. My toes lost feeling soon after.

I laid on my back and waited till the snow seeped through my sweatshirt, then I started crying. My tears froze almost instantly and my face became numb from the constant snow fall that I would not brush off.

After about 7 minutes I could not feel my arms or legs that were laying on each side of me. Only my torso moved and held warmth.

I felt each heart beat. Each terrified thump of the small red organ that realized its owner had given up. It rhythm sped up, trying to force the blood through the hardened veins in my limbs. Now my stomach was numb, and it was getting harder to breath. My lungs were getting stiffer from the cold air I was breathing in.

Again my heart kicked it up a notch, faster and hotter than before. Or maybe it just felt hot because every where else I felt nothing.

I replayed the day, found nothing that I enjoyed, or had caught my attention. Except that poster. That damn poster in the education building. The crisis center had put it up on their bulletin board and it read:

"You as a teacher and educator can change a life!

Come by the Crisis Center to learn how to help children in their time of need!

Suicide, Depression, ADHD, Addictions, Abuse, Money Issues.

You Can Help!

Depression is not something a hug can fix, but it sure can help!

"Suicide is a permanent Solution to a Temporary problem!"

A person who is Addicted to a substance can become free with your help!

Money should not be a reason for Divorce!

Abuse of any kind is Wrong! Find out Your rights!"

But I wasn't a teacher, and I hadn't gone to the center and it didn't feel like a temporary problem.

My heart started to give, its frantic beat gave way to hard lurches, and then to softer thumps, then to a cold slog.

Was this something I would regret?

It didn't feel like it now. The numbness was welcome, I liked that my heart was slowly giving in. It can only last so long when the brain keeps telling it to give up hope.

Give up Hope.

To lay down ones belief, or faith in something to come, or someone.

That's what I was doing.

Giving up my life, because my hopes had been lost.

A fresh burst of sobs tore from my throat, starting my heart up again in its frantic motion.

The tears froze with the others on her face, but they just kept coming.

I waited for five minutes before my body had cried all the tears that were left in my system.

My heart continued to beat.

Stop it. STOP that. We're done here.

What about your birthday? It asked. It's today. In fact in 2 hours it will be official that you have been breathing for 19 years. 19 years. You ready to give up now?

Shut up. It doesn't matter. Let me go. Stop trying.

Fine. It says. Tell me one more time. Tell me you've truly given up hope, tell me there is nothing left for you. Then I will quiet my beating forever. And we will be silenced.

I've truly given up hope. There is nothing left for me. I'm Done.

Oh. It remarked sadly. Well your decision is made. I will keep up my end of the bargain. Just know that I Loved you. And I would have been happy if you stayed alive.

Then it pumped one last time and fell quiet.

I drifted off, regretting that I hadn't asked its opinion first.

Scars

I just wanted to post about scars because today as I was avoiding studying I counted the scars on my hands. On

my left hand I had five. On my right hand I had Twenty-three. Twenty-Three!

That is an 18 number difference!

To me that was astonishing. I chalked it up to my right hand dominance, how since my right hand did all the work it went through all the pain as well. Then as I was wrapping my dorm door in christmas paper, my right hand (which was, unfortunately, holding scissors) slipped too far down and sliced into to top of my left hand, middle finger.

Now this may not look like a very harsh cut. But let me tell that this little sucker can bleed, and it was also quite painful.

I figured this happened because my right arm was subconsciously jealous of my left hands' smoother features.

About two hours later I forgot about it and rubbed my face with the back of my knuckles for a couple minutes(It's a habit when I'm studying). It stung, so I looked at my hand and I had reopened the cut.

My exact response was, "Stupid Thrombocytes! Do your job!"

Now it's healing, and I hope it leaves a scar, because I really do like the look of them. It shows me I've been through some crap and I wasn't perfect at it.

Whether it was the sharp hanger hook backstage in high school, or the knife I was playing with that got a little out of hand. Literally. Maybe the fork I dropped on my foot that bled like a madman, or the time my elbow knocked the clock to the ground and as I picked up the shards of glass my thumb got an unwelcome visitor.

It truly doesn't matter what the occasion, only the fact that I've had the experience of pain and I know I can survive.

Because I'm a tough girl. Covered in Disney Princess Bandaids. :D