If struggle is what makes us human, what is it that makes us monsters? Recently, all I've wanted is a little solid in my life. Something to which I can cleave and know that it is steadfast. I so desperately want for someone to notice the struggle and ease my burden, lend a hand or shoulder. Yet, my phone stays silent and my cup stays empty. The rut will eventually become a valley, which will then become a canyon, but I've been doing my best to hold it together. Art helps, words help - but self-help only goes so far until self-help is sad and useless. I believe I've past that limit. Maybe I should ask for help, ask for compassion. If