What am I between these driving delusions of all my anxieties, aside? When every moment is a revolt against suicide and my steadying decline and my internal monologue dissolved into reminding myself why. Who am I but ceaselessly unsure of the lens of my own myopic, miserable mind? Between the shadows stirring in the corners of these drying eyes and the alarming cry for predators nearby, these countless confines multiplying wildly. How often I find I am fighting my brain every second, all the time, my own excessive efforts led awry as my uncertainties undermine. But now all I know is I am finally freeing myself from being so spine numbingly paralyzed, now that I've realized I lie underneath somewhere within the way of still waking up from this frozen comatose demise.