“It was ironic, really - you want to die because you can't be bothered to go on living - but then you're expected to get all energetic and move furniture and stand on chairs and hoist ropes and do complicated knots and attach things to other things and kick stools from under you and mess around with hot baths and razor blades and extension cords and electrical appliances and weedkiller. Suicide was a complicated, demanding business, often involving visits to hardware shops.  And if you've managed to drag yourself from the bed and go down the road to the garden center or the drug store, by then the worst is over. At that point you might as well just go to work.”  (Marian Keyes, Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married)


I am sinking, and there is nothing but endless ocean around me...oh, there are plenty of voices telling me to swim, that this is how the ocean is, that the next wave will lift me up... but there is nothing to grab onto, no proffered hands, no buoyant flotsam, no boat straining to come to pick me up.  The mind numbing darkness bids me to stop struggling and give up to the waves their sacrifice.  But something keeps the body moving treading helplessly...