I'm a healer of souls, though I've discovered that I'm a contagious pathogen whose uplifting presence is a precursor to plummets into despondency. I learned that I'm ultimately a destroyer, enslaved by destiny, who makes the disease of hopelessness its most effective by leading people into emotional triumph, only to have that manifestation of paradise snatched away as their souls are torn apart by raging melancholy.

So I paid Isolation to annihilate the ties between myself and my loved ones as I prayed that their souls could still be saved from me. Too weak, I rebuilt transient connections because my perpetually lonely soul yearns for any semblance of belonging; though deep down in my heart, I know that I'm an anomaly who could never be fully loved by they whose blood doesn't course through me; hot scarlet estuaries which flow from my unearthed veins and upon my arms to my bedroom's paneled floor. As exhaustion compels me to kneel, I sense an individual of ivory light catch me before my head slams upon the ground.

"Dear child, where does it hurt?", the luminous being inquires in a voice like a choir as he strokes my hair in the golden rays of the setting sun. I raised a slit forearm to point at the center of my chest where a cavernous hole festers, an old cavity which is invisible to passerby. The being holds me closer to his warm bosom as he caresses me and he asks the next rhetorical question, "Do you love them?"

"I love them", I proclaim through a fresh deluge of tears as I see each one of my loved ones and whisper their names.

"Then arise, you know what you must do to set them and yourself free!", the creature sings as he places my sharpened knife within my palm. I won't leave you," the Grim Reaper and Melancholy's son tenderly whispers as a lullaby flows past his lips.

Violently trembling, I set the tainted blade's edge upon a vein within my neck with his help.

?I don't want to die (but I don't want to live in unceasing agony). I don't desire for anyone to cry from my demise (but I will ultimately set them free from myself). Yes, I will bring them liberation (no, they love me). I hear the cadences of their laughter, the rhythms of their speech, and the tones of all of their voices (I am a part of their beautiful experiences); and I see the joy reflected upon the outward aspects of the artistry whom they are as they socialize with one another (I am thoroughly loved too). Oh, imagine the eventual bliss when I'm no longer there to fail them (I am not a god). I am only human. (They have their struggles and they will never be burdens). I will never be a failure (nor will they). I will always be loved (as I will forever love them).

Wait!

I am not a pathogen. Truth is not swayed by falsehoods.

I shriek at the monstrosity in angel's guise, forcing that master manipulator to flee by my resolve as the embers of sunlight vanishes. Flashes of my loved ones having my soul ripped from theirs manifests before me as I perceive what it would feel like to have their souls torn from mine through suicide. I force the images of their collapsing bodies, afflicted by new widening craters in their chests, and the sound of their reverberating wails to give way to our magnificent memories and shared futures; embracing one anothers' souls through woes and triumphs.

There is no such thing as a perfect day but every day is perfectly worth living. Onward.