As much as I’d like to be ICEE (Inspire, Connect, Entertain, Educate) whenever I write, the truth is that I’ve been borderline depressed for a long time.
I sit on the edge of the cliff and dangle my legs into the canyon. Across the chasm, the smoking remnants of a once vibrant cliffside town paint the sunset black and orange, like the stripes of a tiger.
I’ve nursed my quiet sadness and presented a cheery face to the world, all the while hoping for an upturn. There has been no upturn. And I am tired of pretending.
I turn to look for the way back and all I see is the cliff face. The path that led me here has disappeared into the crags of rock. I cling like a bug on a freeway, searching frantically for the exit with my eyes.
The stories in my life all seem to follow a downward arc. I don’t know where the end is. All I know is that so far, I seem to be flapping my arms, hoping to fly.
The red cliff begins to crumble beneath my fingertips. I scrabble. Desperately.
My natural inclinations do not feel like enough. I am a dreamer – were I only born more as a doer! And as much as I attempt to mend my ways, correct my course, and become the person I need to be, it will never suffice.
My body feels as though it’s shrinking. My mind retreats in tandem. Like a two-headed dog, it snarls and bites at itself, worrying itself to death. My mind knows that it is its own greatest weakness.
The canyon’s jaws open wide behind me. It sucks at me.
I can no longer summon fury in order to continue. That supply has been depleted, or perhaps it is just not suited to the task anymore.
Vertigo pierces my spine like a lance.
Maybe it’s time to let go.
Maybe I will never reach the