It seems all anyone wants to do these days is save me.
Why am I so determined to refuse that hand?
Maybe I want to drown, maybe I want to forget the sounds, the pressure, let the water build up in my ears in the most painful, blissful silence. Maybe it’d be nice to forget how to breathe, to forget… everything.

But my daddy, in all his infinite fatherly wisdom, once told me, “Suicide is for the weak.”

He never expected the strongest of us all to fall victim to it.

And what if those are the only two things keeping me anchored to this world? My competitive spirit and my fear of disappointing my loved ones?