The rope is thick and rough, its frayed strands scratch my skin leaving angry red trails. Under my bare feet the stepladder feels cold and unforgiving. My toes grip the edge, threatening to slip. My breathe falls short and I catch a glimpse of the scribbled love notes and apologies I’d hastily taped to my bedroom door.

I think of the people I called my friends. Fragile facades that were carefully crafted to normality. I think of the man that used to be my father. The way he would stumble into the kitchen, fumbling for a full bottle as an empty one tumbled to the floor. I remember the way my mother would cry at night so that I could hear her sobs through the thin walls.

Everybody is the center of their own universe. We all have our own demons that muffle the cries of others. My battle is like any other, giving up would be the easy way out. I pull the rope over my head, its weight heavy in my hands. I step down from my lonely island and reach for my phone. I take a deep breathe and dial for help.