October.

I can't breathe, and the world squeezes in a little tighter.

I'm stuck, and I don't know which way to go.

I'm hollow, and the air that I breathe does not fill up my lungs.

I am tired, and I can't get enough sleep.

I am aching; I can feel it in every fibre of my body.

I am me, just me, and just me is not enough.