Sometimes I think being brain dead is better than being alive. When you're young no one tells you that there are people in hospitals that aren't living but aren't dead either. They don't tell you along with the rainbows and butterflies comes, death and well-living death. I thought that maybe if I could just scream loud enough that they would pull the plug, I’m so tired of darkness. I can hear the tears and laughter but they cant hear mine. It's scary really, I'm stuck with myself going over and over in my head how it all went wrong. I remember the cold water, and the rocks which I assume I hit my head on. That day air smelled sweet and salty, balanced perfectly by the breeze. We stood at the edge of the Detroit River with glazed donuts, mine slowly melting and turning my fingers sticky, and Robert's fingers reaching out to grab another from the orange box. We walked up over the bridge he grasped onto my hand his sweaty and mine still sticky and sat there breathing, just breathing, no thoughts. Robert looked down at me and smiled “I love you.” At the thought of being loved I vomited and wiped my mouth and he turned me towards him. “I mean it” he started to scream “I freaking mean it” my head started to get fuzzy and I walked over to the only piece you could see ducklings cuddle up to their mothers. It where the dirt and water met it was also the place with the protection screen lowered. First, i felt his warm hands sort of cradling my back. And then a forceful push as I finally flew. Some might say I'm selfish for wanting the plug to be pulled. I cant help when I feel a doctors presence  to whisper into darkness “pull it”.