It hadn’t always been this way; the deafening silence within my own head, the crude images that threatened my sanity. Yet, I wasn’t sure when it had all started. Or perhaps, I had always been this way – messed up, abnormal – and I had simply been too blind to see it. All I wanted was to fly; to soar higher than all my problems, to escape from everything. Maybe then, I would be happy. Flight. To me, it was the most precious thing in the world.