Just hanging on for dear life

Walking home tired at 1 in the morning the other night, I lovingly embraced the coldness and felt at peace with the icy breeze blowing gently at my face. It was slightly drizzling and soon the wintry, sweet-tasting rain drops slowly trickled down my face. I soon realized my cheeks wet from tears that welled and gushed from my very soul. I could not even command them to stop. I have never felt so alone, so battered, so worn. I could only take so much. I am already on the edge. When everything seems to be going wrong, from one tragedy to another, a never ending series of misfortunes and heartaches -- when the very joys of life and living is sapped out of your existence. When you no longer hold your very life dear, what is the purpose of hanging on?