Bitter, wintry gales have taken over the gentle autumn breezes, as the last leaves fall.

She gazed up to the blue-grey sky, to the barren hills in the distance, to the children on the swing and slides… Any trace of vivacity, exuberance that could possibly feed her emptiness. Her impassive mind is disdaining all interactions with mere nods, uh-huhs and the occasional spurious chuckles.

Leaning on the window sill, after myriad cigarettes, she was eventually hit with a revelation - it was time for this solidarity to end. She snickered at the thought, amused by her own naivety, although part of her understood clearly her reaction to be a cover up for the unspeakable fear that sits engraved in the back of her mind. She knew it was time to stop with all the self-denying. She knew it was the her only remedy. But did she want to be cured? Who would she become if she was ever cured? The strings of questions haunted her one after one… Bang, she slammed the window shut. Enough of this messed up bullshit.

There is no turning back after one chooses to crossover that one-way bridge. Regardless of to what extent one may believe that they have been set free from this imprisonment, who knows that “some day… the bell jar with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again”?