My life was like a long, unending tunnel.

No light, no visibility, and no turning back—it was a path so far gone that even contemplating retreat was futile.

Yet moving forward held no promise of an end, no hope of finding anything waiting.

I walked. And walked.

When I stumbled and fell, I got up and kept walking.

When fear of the dark gripped me and my body trembled uncontrollably, I forced myself to endure and moved forward again.

That was how I lived.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I existed.

I asked myself, and I …