I don’t ever remember waking up, but guess I must have at some point.

I do remember the violent energy thrashing within me… as if my skeleton was trying to escape my skin…

I do remember the stabbing feeling round my stomach every time I moved…the light pouring in through the window becoming me… becoming a truth or something heavy or…

I do remember the edges of my room deteriorating… the rushed colors swirling in a non-existent wind.

Then my memory stops.

I think they call it blackout.

The coldness of the winter morning reminded me that I was alive…that this wasn’t just some dream I was having… though the lights of the ambulances rushing past us turned the snow a powdery blue that seemed to belong only to dreams.

The snow on the ground was thin and beneath I could see patches of golden wintry leaves, trodden and skeletal… as frail as I felt with each step as we made our way to the car.