I’ve been trapped here for months. Not enough room to lay down. And I do not die.

I have been trapped for months.<br><br>I can be no more specific than that. <br><br>I don’t know how I got here. Why I am here. I don’t even know where “here” is. And I am not sure if I would be ready to learn how I got here even if someone was willing to tell me. I do know that I am not dead. And I am not crazy. My name, for example, is Emily Wilson-Brown. I was born on October 12, 1988 in Chicago, IL. I remember the first time I rode a bike. I went to college. I had a stable but fulfilling career. I had two children. A husband. Friends. I know all of these things. I am not crazy. And I am not dead. <br><br>But I am trapped.<br><br>I can’t describe it. I have tried. There is simply nothing here. And I am alone. No one knows I am here. No one is looking for me. I am alone with nothing but the cold and the dark. And I do not die.<br><br>I try every day. I hit myself against the damp, cold walls. The walls are solid. And I try to break my neck. I have broken my back twice, my ribs four times. My nose six. I have lost count of how many times I have broken my arms and legs. But I don’t die. The bones never heal, but they do mend enough for me to try again. And they will continue to do so for as long as I am here. Which will be forever.<br><br>*Forever*<br><br>I can’t imagine that concept. I am so alone. And I can’t imagine ever being here with anyone else. Not even another prisoner. I am alone here. And I always will be.<br><br>I am cold. And I am hungry. And I am scared. But most of all, I am so alone. And I am so tired. The thought of going on this long, never-ending road alone just makes me want to cry. But I have no tears. I have none left. I have wept until I could weep no more.<br><br>But I weep more.<br><br>I have asked...Someone...to let me go. They will not. They will not even talk to me. They will not tell me who they are. They won’t even let me call them “they”. I am alone here. I have no one to talk to, no one to ask for help. Just me. Alone in the darkness, to contemplate my eternal damnation.<br><br>Eternal damnation. <br><br>I thought of that phrase in seminary school. I thought of it again when I heard the preacher talk about hell. And then, again now, as I truly learned the meaning of eternal damnation. <br><br>To be locked away for eternity. Alone. No one to talk to. No one who even knows I am here. No one to help me. No one to mourn me. No one to even remember my name.<br><br>I am but a memory to my family. A memory of a person who loved them. A person who had loved. Now I love no one. I am alone. I hate everyone who put me here. I hate God. I hate Satan. I hate the world. I hate people. I hate my family. I hate my friends. I hate everyone.<br><br>And I hate myself. <br><br>For living. For living through this. This horrible, tortuous, excruciating, agonizing existence. For continuing to exist. For not stopping. For continuing on. For not ending. For not dying. <br><br>I hate myself for not dying.<br><br>I have thought of ways to kill myself. I have tried to suffocate myself. I have tried to starve myself. I have tried to cut myself. I have tried to drown myself. I have tried to asphyxiate myself. I have tried anything and everything. I have been shot, stabbed, drowned, burned, decapitated, electrocuted, and crucified. I have been killed by wild animals, savage beasts, and vicious monsters. And I still do not die.<br><br>I hate myself. And I hate whoever has put me here. And I hate whoever will continue to keep me here. And I hate whoever simply doesn’t know that I am here. And I hate whoever will never know I am here. And I hate everyone. <br><br>And I give up. <br><br>I give up. I will not ever try again. I will do nothing. I will say nothing. I will be nothing. I will be no one. I hate everyone. And I hate myself. <br><br>I hate everyone.<br><br>And I am trapped forever.