Consciousness feels like a punch in the gut. I feel like sleeping, the sun seems too bright for the darkness in my soul. I stare at the ceiling watching it close in to **** me. I don’t fight it. I want it to take me away, to end my miserable existence. I yell at it to do it. To take my breath away. To stop the thudding in my chest. I think my last thought before I’m taken away for good. “I wish I could say I had a good run, but at least I tried.” I mumble, “Hope my family doesn’t miss me.” the voices chuckle at that “Of course they won’t no one loves you, you won’t be missed.” I can’t help but agree. I watch the ceiling collapse down on me. I wake up in a cold sweat only to regret it. I get out of bed and go live out my miserable existence. If ‘waking’ up in that dream was a punch to the gut, waking up in real life was a shot to the head. If only it was as fatal.