Ahh I have been stricken! I know not what ails me! My nerves have been on edge, to say the least. I ache for rest; yet when I lie upon my bed, sleep fails me. I shake and sweat as if consumed by fever, yet no physical illness corrupts me. I fear my change to be purely mental...and I can find no direct cause.

The rage that has been building over the last few weeks now threatens to burn me alive. I can find no outlet to release my strains. I scream in anger and weep in despair: Yet my pain refuses to ease. In all my times of darkness, writing and creating have always released me.

Yet now my creations are in vain. They have begun to reflect the storm that brews so violently within me. And as the rain erodes the soil, my tears fall upon the ink, causing it to run. I look into the mirror and do not recognize the force that resides in my eyes.

I ache for companionship, for someone to help carry my burden: Yet I fear there is no one.

I..Ive found something I wrote once, something from a long time ago. Its title is "Prayer". I do no recollect ever having created it, yet the topic of the creation proves that it was my own doing. The finding of this work only added to my horrific despair: The resemblance of "Prayer" and a suicide note are so close..it pains me to read it. Ahh but these are weary times for me, so I will end this lament with the same three words as the last.

               I surrender.

                           Amen.