There was something wrong with me.<br /><br />The human body doesn’t want to get hurt. We’re programmed to feel squeamish at the sight of blood. Pain is a careful orchestration of chemical processes so that we keep our body alive. Studies have shown that people born with congenital analgesia — the inability to feel pain — bite off the tips of their tongues and scratch holes in their eyes and break bones.<br /><br />We are a wonder of checks and balances to keep on running.<br /><br />The human body doesn’t want to get hurt.<br /><br />There was something wrong with me, because sometimes I didn’t care. There was something wrong with me, because sometimes I wanted it.<br /><br />We fear death; we fear the void; we scrabble to keep our pulses.<br /><br />I was the void.<br /><br />What are you afraid of? Nothing.<br /><br />You are not doing this you are not doing this you are not doing this<br /><br />But my eyes were already clawing over the bathroom for ways out.<br /><br />Trust you?<br /><br />I wasn’t meant to live, probably. This was why I was wired this way. Biology formed me and then took a look and wondered what the hell it was thinking and put in a mental fail-safe.<br /><br />In case of emergency pull cord.<br /><br />I was crouching by the wall, breathing into my hands.<br /><br />Victor had told me once that he’d never considered suicide, not even for a second, not even at his darkest moments. It’s the only life we have, he’d said.<br /><br />Even when I was happy, I felt like I was always looking for the edges on life. The seams.<br /><br />I was so perfectly born to die.