I'm standing on the edge. The air is crisp and cool up here. I close my eyes and breathe in deep. The air stings my lungs a little and reminds me that I can feel. I don't want to look down because I know if I do, I'll feel the fear creeping in again. The truth is, I've been here before. Again and again I've come here, slowly inching closer and closer to the edge each time. This time I can't get any closer. My toes are as far over the edge as they'll go. One more step and there's no going back. Part of me wants to take that last step. Take it, it says, one more step and you won't fall. You can do it. It will all be worth it. I almost believe it.
Then the other part of me chimes in. You can't take that step. You won't do anything but fall. People will get hurt and it'll be your fault. Where's the worth in that? For a second, I almost step backward but I know I can't. I've come this far, if I don't take the step now, I won't come back. I can't take the step but I can't leave. I'm paralyzed in the middle, stuck on the edge.
I can't call for help, I've isolated myself far enough away that no one will hear me. What would they do anyway? Push me? Yeah, right. Talk me down? I don't know that they could. This is my own personal prison that I've built piece by piece and now I have a choice to make. There are only two ways off this cliff: taking a step into thin air or walking away. Either way, this is the last time I'll stand here.
How long can I stand here frozen? Will anyone even notice? In this moment, despite the weight of this prison, I am content. I am at peace. For now.
From my door to yours, we all have to take action at some point. Doing nothing isn't a permanent option.
