I must have come "close to death" five times while in the hospital with the voices chattering away at me, taunting. IT was always my fault that someone else died or they hated me for some reason. It made for a bad TV movie. Me. Dying. Blamed. Listening to a small group of people criticizing me at my last moments on earth.

I would sit there or lay there with my head either dropped or my eyes closed waiting for darkness to take over, as sure as the sun sets, that I was going to another world--blackness was going to hit.

It never did.

The voices lied. x.