It's an odd occurrence, however its binding adjectives cause no lack of frequency. Myself, and all other bodies off life that reside inside of me left you in the fall. The voices in my head that respond with a sarcastic tongue to my thoughts began to quiet, the hum off their breathing, a little less noticeable. For the grey months of winter, I was alone. My mind would not speak to me, nor would I speak to myself. I was lost, confused, I was so "out of myself", so to speak, that it was disgusting. Anytime I found myself passing a mirror, for a moment, I would stop and watch myself. Standing there, more than likely, by myself, I could not recognize the body that had held my organs together for, at the time, just about sixteen years. I was decaying, vile, repulsive – all but my physical appearance had wasted away. I had let myself fall into a place with no light. It was just dark, all day and night. Not even the comfort of the moonlight could save me now.

Of course I contemplated suicide. There were no voices to argue with the soft visions of suffocation, train tracks, and loaded guns.

When December came to an end, the throbbing began to ease, and the thoughts, that did not belong to me, thoughts that I were sure had been placed into my head by a stranger, slowly began to… disperse. Every day, there was one less thought derived from the black hole I had just spent four months in. Slowly, at about the speed of a growing seed, every negative feeling became less lingering. My lungs, though, I think it may have just been my imagination, were a little less tight. Every breath seemed in a sense, easier - whereas four months ago, I had to remind myself to breathe.

In the spring I returned anew, only to find myself with a different mindset. I wasn't consumed or drowning in joy, no, I was far from that point. But, every day was a little easier. Twenty four hours no long felt like twenty years. When I smiled, I no longer felt as if every internal organ of importance was being churned in a blender.

I never want to be told when the first day of summer is again. It would only pain me to see that I was not spending the first day as I once did. Nothing of a greater good could ever replace it. No matter how many summers pass, I'll always remember that first day of summer. As, for the first time in my life, I think I was "okay". For the first time I had received true, genuine reassurance that everything would be okay. And I believed, and so far, I think I'm doing well.

I don't know what fall will bring again. Nobody does. I can hope that I won't abandoned myself. For, after experiencing what it's like to be alone, I would surely cower if I knew I had to do it again. I fear placing trust in myself, but I know, come September, it will be the only choice I have. Who knows? Maybe the seasons will be smooth sailing. With a summer mindset and the experience to conquer whatever it is that lurks within the depths of winter. Maybe I won't be alone this time. Maybe the voices will stay, and the feelings of friendship and family will linger. Maybe I will stay by my own side. I would disagree with the statement "you're never alone". But maybe, my onetime experience was enough to last me a lifetime, and from now on, I'll always be within another presence.