Some struggles are so solitary that they drown in words.
In these flashes of insight, I understand for a moment that one of the great dividends of darkness is an increased sensitivity to the light.
The infinity of this vacancy, the pervasive pain, the longing for some spirit, some lightness, some joy - that's all that is left.
The bottom line is that my life has already almost slipped away from me. I have two choices: I can end it or I can fight like hell to save it. 
It's enough just to speak when spoken to, to give some minimal reaction to a stimulus. But to actually be the stimulus doesn't even occur to me.
Sometimes hell has no words. 