Do any of us know who we are? I have an inkling, brimming beneath the surface. Bubbling like waves on the shore. Grappling with me everyday. I cling to a single breath to stay afloat. It's easier to fit in. To fill a mold. Tilt my head up. Force a smile. Breathe. My heart itches to break out. Some days, I feel it hammering away at the cage it's kept in. The cruel fate it has been submitted to. But I continue on. Smile. Breathe. Pretend. Repeat. I can't help but to think, is this all there is for me?
— Judith Mayfield (June, 1985)