I refuse to succumb to your demands to roll over and play dead like I’m your pet.
This is not a request. I’m taking control over my life from this day forward, and here are my demands: you will stop breathing down my neck.
You will stop trying to drag me back into your suffocating grasp.
You’re going to stop planting these sick thoughts in my head, and stop making me believe I’d be better off dead.
Your clutch is dark and unforgiving, but I am not ready yet to quit living, so I’ll push back on your firm hold, and fight until the day you let go.
You’ve tried for years to tell me that I’m not really here, but I hope this letter makes it clear: I’m not dead yet, and I refuse to pretend.
Do you hear me, you soul sucking coward? I’M NOT DEAD YET!
A Rambler In Bloom 