To be a kid again, life was simpler then,
With carefree afternoons and evenings
That left you in bed content with
Pleasant dreams and memories.
As the years pass and the responsibilities grow,
Those carefree afternoons are overshadowed
With overwhelming omnipresent stress.
Stress that drags you off the precipice of sanity
And into the shadows of despair.
You tumble, frozen with indecision.
Questions float by: What to do, how to get back up,
The what’s and how’s and why’s always at the forefront.
The bottom nears with a final whisper: How do I stop?
You lie there, broken and bleeding.
You try to move but your body protests.
You cry, you bemoan your stupidity about taking that final step,
And then you lie silently, waiting for something, anything
To break through the apathy.
A hand appears suddenly.
The face attached blurry,
But hope gives you strength to grasp hand,
And pull yourself up.
Hand in hand, you begin climbing this cliff,
This daunting cliff that you can’t even see the top of.
You slip sometimes, want to stop at others,
Your hands hurt, and you can’t see the next step clearly.
But you keep climbing.
The terror of falling back down,
Spiraling without any control,
Back into that depressing abyss drives you forward.
“Just gotta reach this next rock” repeats
Over and over without cease.
You climb for what feels like years,
But then, you finally see the sun,
The bright and glorious sun,
As you drag yourself over the edge
Of the precipice.
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