He wandered around in a trance. He stayed away from bright colours and cheery people. The darkness enticed him. “Stay away,” the voices in his head warned. But he was drawn to excruciating pain. The force of attraction was stronger than gravity. What is it called to ache to free fall into the abyss? Insanity, he thought. In this world, they simplify it to depression and say falling is the wrong way out. He didn’t suffer from insanity though. He didn’t have depression either. Just an inkling to fall freely. A delusion that the falling would seize the wanting to fall. Does that make sense?
What can this feeling be called? And why is it shunned? The words of caution forced him farther away from the safe house. Occasionally, he went closer to the edge to peak. “Too close,” the voices warned again. But he was drawn to the noises of emptiness, tempted by the rush of breaking free. He was fascinated enough to take the leap; to follow his gut till it spoke no more. His mind was engulfed in this longing. And honestly, nothing else quite made as much sense.
But he didn’t leap. He didn’t fall. He just lived precariously on the edge.