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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
a short story written sometime around December 2015

Submitted: October 11, 2016

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Submitted: October 11, 2016



Depression is sticky.

  One touch and you're stuck.

  If you want to be free, you have to use all of your strength. You have to pull, you have to tear. You have to shake and squirm. And sometimes, it's still not enough.

  But the more you fight, the more it weakens. You may not be the best fighter, and you may not be the wisest, but as long as you pull against that stickiness

  It will always weaken.

  So don't think about the details. Don't add more stickiness.

  Just fight. You will win.




  You're about to do it.

  You stand there. Your heart is in your throat, and your stomach is in knots.

  Pounding and churning - you don't know which is worse.

  Your hand twitches, and your whole body lurches backwards immediately, away from the edge. From this new position you stare at the drop, your breathing quick and strained. Sweat drips from your temple.

  Why haven't you done it yet?

  You know why. In theory the idea seemed resolute, but right here and right now the only thing resolute is how high up you are and how your pulse feels like it's flying so fast that it might just stop altogether. 

  Swallowing hard, you nudge a pebble off the edge with your foot, and listen for the sound of it hitting the floor. It takes minutes.

  You begin to panic.

Why are you hesitating?

  Your flying pulse creates a rhythm for your thoughts.




  And you'll never hesitate about anything ever again. You can make yourself fearless.




  And you'll never have to face what you’re so scared of in the first place.




  And you'll be floating. You'll be soaring, flying, and you will never have to stop. You'll have no more obligations, no more worries. You will be a dream. You begin to smile. Unthinkingly, you take a step forward. 

  You can do this.

  But then, suddenly, you're somewhere else.

  You are 17 years old, being hugged by your mother and told that it'll all be okay; time heals all wounds.

  You are a toddler, licking ice cream for the first time. You begin to giggle.

  You are 13, about to have your first kiss. Their lips smell like pizza. You open an eye and can see that little scar on their cheek.

  You are part of the rocks you stand on. You are the bird that just took a running jump into the sky. You are the sky, the wind, the sun. You are everything. And you feel it all. And you hear your blood rush just underneath your skin, and you feel it warm you.

  And you cannot do this.

  You stumble back and fall to the floor. You dig your fingers into the dirt, never wanting to leave it again. A sob from somewhere deep inside you begins to rise up, and your body shakes from the force of it. But it is something wonderful. It is your thoughts taking a deep breath, it’s your heart purging all the things that you’ve refused to purge for so long now.

  You lay there on the ground, sobbing.

  You have never felt better.

  You will be okay - you will be more than okay.

  You will be.

© Copyright 2018 Alexandra Montesino. All rights reserved.

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