I find myself at the bottom of my pit again; dirt beneath my fingernails.
I rip at the ground, frantically looking for my way out, ignoring the rope above my head.

I scrape and claw at the earth.
My eyes are fixed on the ground, even as a hand extends itself to pull me out.
Ignoring its offer to help, I keep digging.

I don't know what I'm looking for, but I know what it feels like.
I've known it before.
I know it now.
It's standing on the edge if my pit, reaching down to pull me out.

I'm covered in the stain of of overturned earth.
My arms are heavy with exhaustion.
My mind is clear of the fog that had consumed it.

I can turn away from the depths I have clawed my way towards.
I look up to the pure rays of the sun, bathing my stained body in clean light.

He is standing there, but his hand is withdrawn.
He steps back from the edge and I strain to see him.
I am overcome with a desperate need to hear his voice.

"How did I get here?", I ask with anguish in my voice.

"You dug it yourself. Now get yourself out."