Fingernails dug deep into my flesh. I couldn't loosen my grip though my skin was beginning to give way. My lips parted with a small whimper before my teeth clacked together so fiercely I felt it resonate through my skull. Hot tears flowed steadily through clenched eyelids and yet everything around me was bathed in calm.

Pictorial clouds danced across the sky letting the encroaching sunset wash everything it touched in glorious hues of orange and gold. A pine thrush sang beautifully from the treeline; close enough to be heard but never seen. I wished I could disappear completely.

Sitting on my back porch on a Thursday evening in springtime, I planned my suicide.

I was closing in on a decade of therapy and medication that begged me to defy the blackness within me. All the years spent clinging to hope for the day I could bask in true happiness. To not have to defend against the perpetual shadow of numbness that would torment me just when things got good. The idea that no matter how hard I tried to be the best person, friend, and employee, it wouldn't take my depression away.

At this point, I was living to fight to live. It was exhausting.

So, why keep doing it?

Looking up, I noted that the sun had just begun to dip behind the tree tops. The tears had slowed. This was the part where the numbness set in. The pain had forced its way through me, scratching my insides before dissipating and leaving an emptiness in its wake.

It's the numbness that scares me. Because that is when I don't care about hurting others with my absence. That is when I hurt myself.

Finally able to release my grip on my shoulder, I pulled my hand away and witnessed my bloodied nails. Surely there are half-moon marks on my back that matched my reach. The blood was slick between my fingertips and I thought about all the times I had bled for my pain.

If I were in a relationship with myself, I would positively be told to cut ties. This kind of abuse from another would never be tolerated. Yet when we do it to ourselves, we are taught to endure.

Reds were beginning to creep into the sky. I imagined covering the world in red. I imagined being soaked in my own blood.

A splitting pain shot through my right temple causing me to gasp. Why was I always in pain? Gritting my teeth, I picked up my boxcutter. I flipped the blade in and out absentmindedly like clicking a pen. A moment passed taking the majority of my pain. A dull throbbing took its place reminding me my heart was still beating.

Time to do something about that.

I took a shaky inhale as I felt new tears forming. I let the blade stick out. Just leave it out. "Oh my God..." I whispered as I moved the boxcutter to its destination with rapid breaths.

"Hey there."

I just about jumped out of my skin as I looked up to see a man standing in my driveway. "What?" I shouted as I dropped the boxcutter and stood. I whipped my head around frantically trying to figure out how he had snuck up on me. I didn't exactly live within walking distance from anywhere. "I'm sorry, who are you?" I asked, suddenly concerned about this stranger's intent.

He didn't look like someone who I should expect trouble from, though I took that with a grain of salt. With a heavy wool coat over a hooded sweatshirt and black jeans, I was more concerned he might overheat, even as the evening began to cool.

"Always apologizing," he tsked.

My jaw dropped. "Apologizing?" I repeated.

"You have no reason to be formal with me. I am not a guest and this is your property, therefore you have every right to demand my name." He made no attempt to approach or retreat.

I was flabbergasted to say the least. I began wiping my face of the evidence of my breakdown to compose myself. "Look, what do you want?" I asked moving to stand between my porch door and the entry door.

"My name is Shiloh and I'd really prefer you didn't off yourself." With that he took one step forward and gave a terse smile.

Wondering if I was in a dream, I pinched my thigh without looking away from my uninvited guest. "I'm not." My words were weak and unconvincing.

Shiloh gave me a look of judgment. "I wouldn't have stepped in if that were so."

I narrowed my eyes trying to read the person before me. "So what, you're like my guardian angel or something?"

Laughter erupted and I found it soothing somehow instead of agitating. "No, no. That's cute though," he said through a beaming smile. "You're lucky, but not that lucky. See the thing is," he said, crouching where he stood. "If you die," Fingers picked through the gravel from the driveway, "I lose my food source." He shook the stones in his hand like he was about to throw dice.

"So you're crazy," I concluded.

He stood again and let the stones fall. "Pot calling the kettle?" That smile was becoming irritating.

"I am not crazy," I said through clenched teeth.

"No, but you are ill." Another step forward.

I stared him down. "That's close enough."

My eyes strained as I tried to keep focus on the figure through the screen. A haziness was making it difficult to make out his features when suddenly his form faded into the air.

"Whoa!" I exclaimed as the mist that once comprised this mysterious stranger bolted forward, through the door, to re-solidify one step in front of me. I turned to flee inside the house but the mist whirled around me to cut me off.

There was no smile this time. "I can help." There was sincerity to his words but I didn't understand the context. My brain was in hyperdrive. "Let me make it better." Hands reached for my head and I fumbled backwards but not quickly enough. A shushing sound escaped him as he gently held each side of my head. I tried to pry his arms away but his stance was immobile and his gaze was piercing through me, holding me captive.

My body went limp in the next moments as a fluid warmth spread from my temples. My muscles felt weak and there was no resistance as I felt his hands shift to help lower my body to the floor. Legs like rubber and eyes rolling back, I was consumed by the euphoria drifting through my system. It was pleasure. A coo flitted into the silence before I drifted off into the blackness.

This time, it was welcoming.

*****

Darkness surrounded me as my eyes flew open. The glowing red numbers read 3:49am. Both comfort and the recognition of my clock confirmed I was in my own bed. I laid still and wracked my brain trying to remember going to bed but the fact that I was still in my daytime clothes confirmed I was missing something.

Shiloh.

I bolted out of my bed and out the door, expecting him to be on my porch but the echo of the peepers confirmed my solitude. The fact that my small home was surrounded by woods had been one of the main selling features. You can change a house inside and out, but not so much with the land.

Taking a look around, I spotted evidence of my earlier episode. With a box cutter left laying exposed, I somehow felt dirty. Grabbing the knife, I went back inside to try and collect myself. I washed my hands and my face and took a hard look at myself. Was I truly cracking up?

With so many unanswered questions I felt exhausted, yet surprisingly calm. That was when I remembered my final feelings before blacking out. The waves of warmth and comfort and something else that had lulled me into sleep in the hands of an unbelievable guest.

I stood for a few minutes before concluding there was nothing I could do about my situation. My therapist would remind me that worry is a draining and fruitless emotion so I wandered back to my bed with aimlessness. With my lack of options, I decided more sleep might do me well and properly readied myself for bed. Before long, I was embracing the darkness with wonder.

*****

"Tell me about your week," Joyce, my therapist, waited with patience.

I had thought hard about how to approach this inevitable conversation. "I had a breakdown." We let that marinate in silence for a moment while simultaneously preparing for what was to come. "It was bad." My words were quiet.

"You made it through though, didn't you?" A small smile graced her face in her confidence in me.

My own lips pursed. "I had help."

"Good. That's what your support system is for." She was composed but I could hear the eagerness to indulge in my success story. "Who helped you?"

"I don't know," I sighed.

Joyce's gaze shifted as she gave me time.

"It was really bad," I reiterated. My eyes had unfocused as I recalled the moments before my strange encounter.

"Tell me about it," She requested. Her inquisitiveness was transformed into something more earnest.

I took a calming breath before taking the path of no return. "I was in a dark place. I was ready to hurt myself," I paused. "More than that." My gaze lifted to meet those waiting for mine. "And then- divine intervention."

"You had a religious experience?" She questioned. I was not the type to seek help from God.

"No, no," I sunk into the cushions of the armchair swallowing the flowery deflection of my words. It was time to be blunt. "Someone came to my house. I don't know who, but they interrupted my... moment." My speech was fast, I suppose to be sure I wouldn't back out of the truth. "I don't know if I was hallucinating, but he came out of nowhere and then I woke up in bed hours later." I blurted out.

Joyce made a note to herself. "Why do you think this person wasn't real?" she questioned.

Honesty was always my preferred method but there was something making me hesitate. "He had powers."

"What kind of powers?"

I closed my eyes, embarrassed to say the details out loud. "He could shift in and out of corporeal form and he... cured my pain." My eyes opened but I couldn't meet her gaze.

"I see. Well, you are certainly in the right to question this event." She adjusted in her seat and I recognised it as casual. "It is absolutely plausible that your brain had a fight or flight moment and created an escape. Obviously it worked, or you wouldn't have made it to my office today."

My head nodded in concurrence while my mind screamed, outraged that any of this was okay. If I was that delusional, how could I be sure anything is real?

Joyce made me take one of the hotline cards on my way out but it would have been unprofessional of her to get me to make any promises.

My drive home started out fine. My sessions always make me sleepy but the emotional gravity from today was weighing extra hard on me. I gave myself a little shake and turned the music up. The poetry of Lacey Sturm rang through my ears as tears welled up in my eyes. I mouthed along to words meant to lift my drowning spirit but only felt the absence of hope. Blinking, I hoped to feel some sense of relief as the liquid blurring my vision cascaded downwards.

"Something. Just give me something," I sobbed.

I looked in each mirror to see no cars around me before closing my eyes tightly. "Anything," I pleaded.

Heart pounding, I sped down the stretch, finally opening my eyes when I couldn't take the fear anymore. "Oh shit!" I screamed, slamming on the brakes.

A dark figure stood in the middle of my lane, facing me like a madman.

My car screeched to a halt, leaving barely 20 feet between us. Now better illuminated, I could see the outline of a medium length men's coat. "What the..." I trailed.

I tried to take steady breaths as the figure approached.

He leaned in through the open window on the passenger side. "Could I get a lift?" he asked, thumb out, stupid smile plastered over his features. Without waiting for an answer, he hopped in and waved his hand to gesture that we should move.

Sure enough, I caught headlights in my mirror, indicating traffic. I shifted back into drive and gave it gas. "Where are we going?" I asked, completely frazzled.

"Uh, I just got here. You should know where you were headed though." He spoke, distracted by the scenery.

I looked over to glimpse my passenger. "Put your seatbelt on," I commanded.

My companion opened his mouth to rebut until a dinging sounded, threatening to annoy us the rest of the ride. An exaggerated sigh echoed the click of the mechanism.