#4 circle of cliffs

Trigger Warning: This post discusses themes of suicidal ideation, mental health crises, and emotional distress. If you are struggling, please prioritize your well-being and consider reaching out to a trusted person or professional.

Before me is a cliff. I stand at the edge, toes curled over rock, observing the drop. Do I jump? Or do I descend slowly, no matter how deep the fall?

I wonder what it takes to leap. I remember my father, his refusal to board a rollercoaster. I used to be proud that I hadn’t inherited his fear. But time has a way of rewriting us. Now, my fear has outgrown his, it clings to me in planes, in skyscrapers, in the absurd idea that humans were meant to seek out heights like vultures. Who decided cavemen needed a view?

The air here has thinned. What was once lush and green has scorched into something uninhabitable. I glance over the edge, where the drop yawns like a question. It always takes me too long to abandon ship, or not long enough. The vines of routine have overtaken everything; I can no longer see the path ahead. Yet others move easily through this landscape, living, laughing, loving. How is it that I alone cannot adapt? Am I broken? Mad?

“I want to die,” a voice inside me declares. Just a quiet, insistent whisper. I sit in the doctor’s office, legs shaking, pulse roaring in my ears. The admission form asks casually: “Do you have suicidal thoughts?” My carefully constructed facade cracks. Tears come, ugly. I try to shape the words: “Yes, but passively”. The doctor watches me, her expression unreadable. Professional neutrality. She asks if I have a plan. I don’t. I only want to disappear, to evaporate like mist, to become a tree in a forest so dense no one would ever find me.

It sounds like I need help. I recognize this feeling. My body has stood at cliffs before, translating “This place is no longer safe” into “You are the problem. You are the one who cannot survive.” It turns out that surviving extreme circumstances as a child broke my internal thermometer. Flip it upside down, though, and it’s also beautifully fucked up: it shows me how fiercely I cling to work, to friendship, to life itself. I’m grateful for its honesty, even if I wish it would speak to me more gently, without deathwishes.

Here’s what I know: we all need people who aren’t responsible for saving us but who can stand beside us at the edge. Mirrors to reflect whether the waters below are safe to dive into, or if we should turn back.

So thank you, my dear friends, for being those mirrors.

For this circle, ask yourself:

• What cliffs are you facing?
• How do you recognize when an environment, or a relationship, is no longer viable for you? What signs do you look for?
• Who are the people you trust to guide you when the descent feels impossible?