A while back, I asked Adam Black to write about what it's like when he feels suicidal. This is what he sent in:

"where i am"

in a pitch dark room, stone floor, stone walls, alone curled, sitting on my heels, knees tucked into my chin total silence this thing you call emotion, hitting me, mercilessly like a many-tailed whip, laying open my back the blows keep coming, they never stop i know help is not coming, will never be coming i can't be helped, i'm too much of an aberration blows so fast and neverending, my back doesn't have a chance to heal i've been here so long there is nothing left to scream about sometimes i think that time has stopped i know i deserve this and i try to accept that its only emotions and nothing for it but control at my feet, a knife, always taunting offering the possibility of an ending far too final why is it always either agony or death?

i breathe in emotion, scream in emotion, bleed the emotion can't even imagine what help would look like no longer know what safety feels like there is no answer to this room but endure, or not this night i'd give my life to have it stop