to concentrate on something creative like graphic design while depressed was almost impossible. Was I afraid? Was I angry? I was just numb. A numbness that tingled on the back of my skull and made my eyes felt hollow and lifeless. It placed a scowl on my lips and made my hair dry and limp. I just didn't care anymore -- that was what scared me most. I was so scared that I turned to the one person I thought I could: my sister, Jenny. Limply, I pulled out my cell phone and found her number in my address book. As I waited, I went through all of the possible things I could say to her. I thought about how I would begin telling her everything. Dull tingles of fear poked at my toes as I heard the click of her picking up. "I need to tell you something," I said, skipping any needless greetings. There was a pause before Jenny asked, "What's wrong? You sound upset." Was I upset? Is that how I sounded? I wasn't sure. "I can't do this anymore." "I think I know what's coming." I heard her sigh over the phone. She knew what was coming? Really? There was no way that she could see this coming. I sat there in silence for well over a minute before I heard her clear her throat. I felt sick. My stomach was churning and the world was dimming around me. Before I knew it, the words were