The world is an unfair place. We all suffer, we all cry and weep, and we all hope for something more than this suffocating oppression; life. Some of us get out lucky, some of us actually manage to get over the bumps without a scratch- but some of us get scarred and torn. Some of us can't remember a day without tears, or a day without curses and violence. It has nothing to do with mental disorders, although the line is very fine, it's called teenage trouble and plunging deeper. We're drowning you see, we're becoming asphyxiated by things that influence our every move.

- The incessant droning in my ears drowned out all other noises save my internal screaming. I couldn't see for the tears, and I couldn't breathe for the cries that racked my body. There was nothing at the end of the tunnel but endless black and depthless void. I had tried to reach out of course, but I touched nothing but the emptiness that is my soul. Counselor after counselor, psychiatrist after psychiatrist had tried their hands at mending my shattered self. How would they know the inner torment? How dare they try and enter into a space guarded over tortured years by chains and acrid words. How dare they! I wonder, do they know what it's like to be beaten beyond comprehension? Do they know what it's like to lose all sense of being and traipse around the unknown until you find yourself on some foreign bed? Do they know?! Of course not, how could they- with their perfect degrees, their perfect graduation plaques and their perfect smiles. Can't they see? I smiled my last smile in my mother's womb; it's been all tears and screams after that. Can't they see? Are they blind? Do they think they can drown out the cries? Idiots. Fucking idiots.

- But that was years ago. Before I was sent to New Hopes. And now I can smile and scorn myself for being so blind. Now I can see, now I can breathe, now I can feel without crying out in pain. And I wonder whether I'll be seeing you on this side of the tunnel?