As I look at the concoction of delightfully colored pills that I have assembled I ask myself, “are you ready?” I take a deep, breath and then begin to cry. The past 9months have been pure torture, and the toll of sorrow shows through my brown eyes like my reflection in a mirror. The career, social life, lovers, adventures, dreams, goals, all given up to care for a sick mother, who is plagued by Lupus and Rhuematoid Arthritis. I look back at the bright and colorful assortment of pills and think ’ God, why me;’ there is no answer. The older sisters and brother do nothing to help me or the situation. And my emotionally abusive father is loving every minute of this. But the fatigue, strain, pain, sorrow, and fear of living hour to hour is beginning to be too much to bear. Glancing up as if in a trance or awaiting word from the Diety, the only sound heard is the drip-drop of tears as they fall, crushing the bathroom floor one by one. And I ask myself, how do I get out? But even myself will not answer me.