There’s a battle going on within me. A fight. I can hear the noise of panicked voices, a siren. All I feel is pain.

“Don’t let go Carrie, please don’t let go.”

Always commands, even now. She can never give me a break can she? It’s her fault really. Ever since I was young enough to understand her, she made it perfectly clear there’s a way I should be. A way to act when people visit, to smile nicely and speak politely to grown ups, to wear my hair neatly in braids when I go to school and to raise my hand in class.

I did what I was told, I obeyed her commands, but all she did was give me more. She found more nits to pick, more flaws, more reasons I would never be good enough. And as I grew up it wasn’t just her. It seems she had trained me well enough that I didn’t need her to know my own failings, I could see everywhere ways I could be better, better, better. I saw what was wanted of me by those that saw me.

Teachers saw me as a student, and they wanted me to be vigilant, smart, and hard working. Peers saw me as a friend, and they wanted me to be funny, caring, and interesting. Society saw me as a girl, and they wanted me to be skinny.

And that one was so simple, so easy. Everything else in my life was getting more and more out of hand, and the harder I tried the less control I had. This was the only thing that was all mine to control: what I allowed to enter my own body.

That started to get less and less over time. There was something strangely captivationg by the idea that I could get smaller and smaller until I’d dissapear, and even my problems wouldn’t be able to find me.

So that’s what I’m doing - and I’m almost there.

I can feel the release now, the blessed escape from my pain, and not just my physical pain. I choose release...

But it brushes past me, just out of reach.

Could it be that I even failed at dying? Or is there more than that? Is there such thing as faling at my own life? And this is where it finally dawns on me: this life is my own.