Every day I climb a little higher. Every day I get a little closer to freeing myself from this dark chasm.
But I'm not out yet.
I look down at the swirling blackness below me, and I can't help but wonder, how much would it hurt if I fell to the bottom again now? Or now? Or right now?
I can't tell. The bottom is lost in the darkness. All I really know is that every inch of upward progress is another inch I could fall. Another inch closer to freedom, but also another inch closer to death.
I don't think I want to die. Not again.
But until that day when I finally claw my way out of here, and back into my life, the fear of falling will increase with every move I make.
The blackness follows me up, obscuring all of the progress I've made. It taunts me.
I'm already so terrified of falling that I can barely will myself to move, and I've still got a long way to go.
Sometimes I think I should just stop, but I can't. There are no ledges upon which I can rest.
Sometimes I think I should climb back down.
Sometimes I think I should jump.
Then, at least, I could stop being so afraid.