For the past couple of years, the Fall has been the period when things change the most for me. I think I'd like it better if it was the Spring instead. It would seem a little more optimistic. But I suppose I understand that endings are much more obvious than beginnings, so in that way the Fall is appropriate.

I've written about my end of year tradition before, but for those of you too lazy and/or uninterested to go read this and this, what I basically do is set aside a brief period at the end of each year to reflect and remember and anticipate. This used to be something I did every New Year's Eve, but like I said, it's the Fall that's been seeing the most changes lately, so I've been forced to rethink the timing on my yearly tradition.

That first link points to the entry I wrote to close out the period from November 14, 2003 until October 9th, 2004.

I just read through that entry, and I didn't do a very good job with it. I was holding too much back. I was still actually hoping that things would work out for me, and I didn't want to mess anything up more than I already had. So I wimped out and didn't give the year the full recognition it deserved.

I'd like to correct that now, because another year has passed, and I don't feel like I can close it out until I properly close out the one before it.

On November 14, 2003, I fell.

I fell so slowly at first that I wasn't even aware of it, but from that first moment, my fall was inevitable because it had already begun.

I picked up speed as the months passed by, but for the longest time I refused to see the danger I was in. I actually enjoyed the feeling of free-fall. I was falling through clouds. I couldn't see the ground below me, so I didn't know how far away it was. I guess I just assumed that I'd land soon, and that I'd on my feet. I'd always done it before.

But this time, by the time I finally broke through the clouds, and saw the ground still so far below me, I knew the truth. I would not survive this fall. It was just too far. I was moving too quickly.

I fell for over ten months, and I hit the ground on September 24.

Every bone was shattered. I suffered in ways I'd never imagined before. I wished for my suffering to end, but some small part of me still wanted to live. Some small part of me clung to life, even clung to the pain because it was proof that I still lived.

After a while, the pain became so much a part of me that I dared to believe that I could live with it. I dared to believe that I could actually survive. I dared to open my eyes, and I dared to look around.

The real end didn't come until then, when I saw that there was nothing left to live for.

On November 14th, 2003, I fell. I fell for a long time. And on October 9th, 2004, I died.