I looked in the mirror, grabbing my throat was no one but myself. Our eyes locked on one another's. Future events, future tears, and future wounds were being shoved down my throat by the one that stood in the mirror: myself.

Dread encapsulated me, and death mixed with darkness cradled me within its bony arms. Whispering to me, telling me that it was ok to let go, and it was okay to leave this disgusting excuse of a world. I couldn’t believe the girl that stood before me.

The future that I was bound to was being scorched into my weak brain; a brain that was done fighting. A brain that was ready to be forgotten. And then I knew that in the end it wasn't the thoughts that eventually killed me, nor was it the medication or God. In the end. It was me all along.

I never wanted to be saved because I knew deep down, there was no such thing as hope, nor faith. But most of all, I knew there was no such thing as getting better.