It was simply a splendid day. The sun was bright and green, and the trees were shining... I strolled through the park, feeling the cool, crunchy wind cross my path. I couldn’t help but smile at the lovely circumstances that had occurred to make this lovely day possible. I did my best to contain myself, as to not look out of line, out of the norm, out of the expectations. It was simply a day, nothing special, other than the lovely weather. Don’t freak out, they told me. Stay calm, said the voices.



I went along with my business, feeding the ducks with whatever I had left over from last night’s... meal, and breathing in the fresh air. Oh, how fresh it was... I inhaled every molecule as though it was my last. I loved interacting with other individuals in the world. It brought a certain joy to my soul that was quite... irreplaceable. Something about that noise they make, that one that they call fear, sends shivers up my spine... I like shivers. They let me know I’m still here, and not wandering off in some other thought.



I don’t know why I’m writing this, honestly. The voices tell me it’s a good thing to write how I feel, but aren’t they the result of my feelings? Or my feelings are the results of them, or something like that... I’m not sure anymore, but I like it. I like being able to throw my feelings out into the world and see what sticks. Maybe these messages will get out to someone, and maybe someone will be helped by them. I sure hope so. All I really want is to help people. I try to help, I really do. I guess some help can only be done once...



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I don’t know why I stopped writing... It’s been so long. I’ve missed so much. So much that I can’t remember, I can’t take back. I want to go back to the park. I want to feed the ducks. I was to feel the cool, crisp air flowing through me... I can’t feel anything, anything stronger than a heartbeat. It’s always there, as constant as the voices that used to be there. I haven’t been able to feel, to breathe, to know anything since they left me. I’ve been here, stuck in my own reflection, pretending to dream. My dreams are a broken, silent, record. They used to tell me everything. They used to be my everything. I need help.



They say that this kind of help can only be used once. Once is all I need.