I went to the washroom. It was empty. I was grateful. I went to the farthest cubicle and locked the door. Then I cried. Quietly. When what I wanted, what I needed, was to howl. A primodial scream, an inhuman cry. Hold these hands please. They quake. Hold them please and stop their trembling. The pain, its grip on breath so vicious, last night I asked my mother to help me kill myself. She held me as she had done a hundred times before but I noticed, even she had not the heart to rebuke me now.