Crying, hiding out again.  Away from fear.  Under the comforter and weighted blanket trying to seek comfort.  From the pain.  These thoughts, these questions, but I know, nobody can help me if I don’t help me.  I can do the right things or I can do the wrong things.  But what do you do if the “wrong” things are what feels right?  Always, the fighting never stops, the devil on one shoulder the angel on the other, but one of them doesn’t talk, she just cries.  Too weak, too weak to get up off the floor, and nobody is coming for me.  Hands extended but I push them away, not what I want, just leave me alone.  If I can’t do this nobody can do it for me.  If I don’t want this nobody can want it for me.  Sending feelers into the darkness.  Echolocation.  I am here...  I am here...