I feel like I’m drowning. Every second of every day, drowning in a pool of my own misery. I’m dying, Sam. I’m actually dying, and it isn’t like in the movies. There’s no last words that get cut off that are the key to life as we know it. It isn’t a fast, sudden thing. I am just drifting into oblivion, hoping there is an afterlife to catch me when I get to the bottom of the rift of what we call death. Sam, I’m scared. I don’t want to die! I don’t want to leave this world of false happiness and love and lies and hope in shallow ponds! I don’t want to drown in my own misconception of true living. I hate cancer. I wish that it would just go away and leave my brain alone. They called it… a glioblastoma. A form of cancer they say. I don’t care what it’s called! Just take it out of my brain! They said they can’t. That this kind of cancer is incurable. That I… will die… eventually. But the good news is that they are going to put me on some medicine with really awful side-effects to prolong my suffering. Yeah. They just want to keep me alive to run tests and poke and prod and do surgeries and feed me things to “make it all better” and I’m tired, Sam! I’m tired of staying alive just so I can live in fear of imminent death! If I’m going to die, fine! But this cancer stuff better get going and kill me, because I’m tired of sickness. I’m tired of chemo and recovery and having no hair and throwing up every time I eat and… Sam? Will you fix me? Because I’m tired of being broken. And I’m tired of being without love… and you.