The wind whipped and whistled fiercely outside my bedroom window, whispering desperate wishes in my ears, laughing wildly and madly at me, mocking me, as I lay with my eyes squeezed shut amongst the wrecked bedding, tangled sheets, and wiry pillows willing myself to go to sleep, if not for only an hour, before I am forced up and into the winter day where I will be expected to be alive, but instead I will wander wearily through the halls with few words and less will than ever as I withdraw farther and farther down into myself, wanting the voices to go away, watching for signs and waiting for the end of the final day when the worry and wonder will subside and be replaced by white clouds and bright lights – what will it be like when I get there, as this world we live in is cruel as witnessed by so many others like me who only want one more chance to escape the pain before wilting like a dried up flower long forgotten and neglected by society, washed into the gutters like polluted rainwater, and swept under the worn rugs by those around us who only want to forget that we are real people too.

I awake in my ripped red vinyl Lazy Boy recliner, thin upper lip busted wide, open breath smelling of day old blood, my body too pained to move, legs contorted under me as if I had no bones, my arm ringed with yellow, purple and blue bruises as if a constrictor had wound his way up and around my arm gripping it for dear life, looking out the red rusted window pane as raindrops the size of peanut M&Ms splash against the window like God is crying a deep cry from the bottom of his gut as the world spirals out of control – even his control – while across the sun kissed, sandy desert dirty men with sunken faces and matted black beards as long as father time shoot riffles at each other, and now at my brother, bullets piercing skin and slicing bodies wide open with jagged wounds, as blood red as bricks gushes into the blinding daylight, briefly pooling then sinking into the soft sand, drying black as night where men lie crumpled in heaps like rag dolls in a little girl’s toy box, and I think why me.

Jayne was one of the most self-centered, arrogant, crass people I hve ever encountered. She could not open her mouth without her high-pitched, whiny voice grating on every last nerve in my body. She spoke in a pitch worse than fingernails being drawn down a chalkboard. It made every hair on the top of my head stand on end every time she spoke.

I first encountered Jayne while waiting in line at Starbucks for my usual Monday morning pick me up nonfat double soy latté. She was yapping loudly on her cell phone oblivious of the fact that the fifteen other people in the store where shooting her looks of death. By the time I had cycled through the line, ordered and gathered for my drink – five minutes, tops – I knew every detail of Jayne’s weekend, including the fact that she had hot sex with some guy she picked up at a club Friday night. And now she can’t even remember his name.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I was running a little late, rushed into my building and into the elevator about five minutes after nine. Safely inside the elevator I knew I was home free and I punched the button to the fifth floor. The elevator doors were almost closed when I saw a two well manicured fingers appear through the narrowing crack between the doors and heard a voice yell “Wait! Hold the door! I’m late!”

I hate sharing elevators. I always know I will have a good day when I enter the elevator and realize I have the whole thing to myself. Annoyed, I pushed the door open button on the elevator and silently wondered why that voice sounded vaguely familiar.

Two seconds later the elevator doors were completely open and there stood Jayne holding a venti cup of coffee, cell phone still glued to the side of her head. Just when I thought I was going to have a good day, my hopes were dashed into the river of despair.

Oh, well, it is just a short ride and then I will be through with this annoyance and waste of breath once and for all. The doors opened on the fifth floor, and I took a deep breath, refocused, and vowed to get my week off to a good start – once again. I rushed out of the elevator and down the hall where I closed the door to my office behind me. I could still hear that voice yammering in my head. Where was it coming from? What a dreadful woman.

No sooner had I taken off my coat, dropped my briefcase, and turned on my computer, than I heard a knock on my door, shortly followed by the entrance of the company’s human resources manager smiling broadly and exclaiming,

“Meet your new assistant – Jayne!”

They always say to write what you know. For a long time I thought I had to have these wild, crazy, and amazing life experiences to be able to write something interesting. For a long time I didn't think I had had anything even remotely interesting happen in my life to write about. I didn't think I knew much, because so much learning comes from having experienced things. I tried to force emotions that I really did not have any right to feel.

Then I began to think and to dig a little deeper. I began to think about my life a little more. I began to really get into tune with the stories around me.

I have had a lot experiences, both good and bad, that I can really draw from. I have lived my life my own way. I have seen things and experienced things. I have a family, and each one of those family members has a story behind their life. I really do have some intersting people in my family who have had some interesting experiences. Everyone has a story, if you take the time to ask.

We all have stories inside of us. Some may be sad, some may be happy, some may be a healthy combination of both. But there is a story inside each and every one of us. I have to remember this when my mind goes blank and empty. Ask a question, talk to a friend, find a story that touches you and write it.

The day is perfect. I have never been happier or more at peace in my entire life. I look up and notice that the sky is the perfect shade of royal blue, just starting to darken to a deep purple around the edges as twilight dawns, while a sliver of moon sits in the northern sky above me. Not a cloud is visible in the sky. The faint small of sea salt lingers in the air. The grass is dusted with a fine layer of sand from recent wind storms, but there is no wind today. The air is still and welcoming, almost inviting, and not at all suffocating. Almost as if mother earth were holding her breath and waiting.

People always told me I was too pretty to have problems as I come to a halt near the edge of the cliff. I peer over the ledge, watching the angry grey water swirl below, frothy and menacing. What does pretty have to do with anything, I think as I feel a pinch of anger in my abdomen. What matters are feelings. What matters is being valued and respected by other people. What matters is an acknowledgement, no matter how small, for a job well done, for even making an effort at all. If all else fails, and my life has been full of failures… What matters is just plain acknowledgement for being alive. I have never asked for much. I didn’t ask to be pretty.

I slowly inch closer to the ledge, the tip of my big toe starting to curl over the jagged edge. Sharp like a razor blade, the ledge begins to cut into my toe, and I pull it back an inch. I peer over the edge of the massive cliff and notice how the earth bows inward, eroded over time by the crashing waves. I can relate. There’s only so much pounding, crashing, jolting any surface can take before it starts to wear away and erode, buckling under the constant hammering pressure.

I move my foot another inch forward and watch a pebble fall from the ledge. It falls a full 70 feet straight down into the frothy water below, almost as if in slow motion. I kick a few more pieces of sand and watch them fall. They, too, are swallowed into the grey water below. Disappearing into the vast nothingness that is the ocean below. My heart skips a beat and then calms.

The biggest problem I have with myself is finding “my” place in the world. I don’t know where I fit in. All I know is that I’m not quite comfortable in my skin where I am now. I know there is something out there for me, I just do not know where it is or what it is. I am looking for confidence, strength, faith, security and serenity. I also know that God fits into my life somewhere, but I am trying to discern where. I feel like there are so many unanswered questions about where I fit in and where I will end up that I feel overwhelmed much of the time. The world is so big that I wonder how I will find my way.

I am a strong believer in fate and in destiny. I believe that everything happens for a reason. I also believe that my fate is predestined by some force out there, possibly by God, possibly something else. I am also a big believer in gut feelings. I have always had a very strong sixth sense of intuition. But all of these feelings and intuition do not give me concrete proof of where I will end up or of which direction to take when my life comes to a split. None of it is real and tangible.

Just living, going with the flow, is the thing that I find the most difficult. Every moment in my life is orchestrated before I do it. I plan everything, minutes, days, weeks and even months ahead of time. For me, this is reality. Just letting life flow by me like a river? Impossible. My brain just doesn't function like that.

Why is it so hard to let go of those things that hurt us the most? We hold on until they destroy us. Unwilling and unable to let go.

She was a mystery to those around her. No one really knew her, although many tried. People were drawn to her like magnets, wanting to be her friend. Yet, she had few friends. She preferred to stay home and was rarely seen out in public. Her home was warm and inviting from the street, but very few had actually ever seen the inside.

She was very beautiful with striking features. Her jaw line was angular, yet soft. Her eyes were a crisp, clear icy blue. One could get lost in her eyes. There was a quiet vulnerability about her that could be sensed from far away. Maybe it was the touch of sadness always swimming in the back of her eyes. Even when she smiled, she never really looked completely happy.

She was a very strong woman with an unwavering self confidence. She had been standing up for herself since she was very young. She never had a mother to teach her or to show her the way, she only had herself. Yet, she was a kind and compassionate teacher. Always gentle with the children. Always able to calm the wildest child in the class without so much as raising her voice.

I woke up this morning happier than I have been in as long as I can remember. For the first time in a long time, I woke up and did not want to throw up. I woke up without a sinking pit in my stomach. I woke up excited to face the day and to see what was in store for me. I feel like a thousand pound weight has finally been lifted from my shoulders and I am once again free to be myself.

I awoke around 6:30 to sunshine streaming in through the mini blinds. Rays of sunshine bathing me in yellow light and beauty. It is the first time I have heard the birds chirping in years. I pushed the sill and opened the window to smell the crisp autumn air, ripe with scents of fall.

I smiled brightly as I walked over the the window, twisted the rod, and opened the blinds to see nothing but blue sky and green grass below. People were out walking their dogs, jogging, and enjoying a great start to their days. Would I finally be one of those people? After all of the pain and suffering, was I free from my deamons?

It was so easy. Why hadn't I figured it all out before?