The Bridge

Cautiously, I admitted, “In my mind, there is a very high bridge.”

I had been lying in bed for nearly two months, sick, and suffering, and frightened that I would not survive. Every moment was rigidly programmed to ensure my survival: water, pills, food, water, bath, sleep, water, pills, food, shower, sleep, water, pills, food, water, bath, water, sleep. I would creep, bent and trembling, from my bed, to the bathroom, to the kitchen, and back to my bed, the fatigue consuming. Constant pain, like being devoured very slowly and thoughtfully by a malicious force, my bones picked clean. And fear.  Terror. Nausea. Dizziness. Confusion. My betraying mind roaming through the shadows of unfriendly terrain, distorting, chanting, mocking, refusing to return to the places that once brought me pleasure or comfort. My heart hammering, skittering, and suddenly sliding down to a slow thud that would make me think, “I am dying. I don’t want to live like this.”

In the nights, I would lie awake, profoundly aware of the sensation of tiny aliens crawling under my skin, my hungry lungs gasping for breath that would not satisfy, the thoughts of an unknown thinker worming into my mind. Dark thoughts. Desperate. That bridge, beckoning. And, me, executing an eternal, arching swan dive, so peacefully, into lavender twilight. 

Each morning, I would drift, finally, into exhausted slumber and jolt awake a couple of hours later, anxious, frightened by the thoughts of the previous night. What was happening to me? And, how could I tell anyone? They would surely declare me insane, and lock me away. Many weeks passed this way.  

Then, when I had gone countless days with my head, neck, and throat engulfed in a cold fire, and the left side of my jaw almost clamped shut by muscle spasm, I called my sister, sobbing hysterically. “I don’t think that I can do this!” I wailed. “It’s too hard. It’s too much! It needs to stop. Nothing is making it stop!” I felt lost to myself, and the pain had driven me to unfathomable despair. I wanted nothing more than to go very far away, to a place where there would be no pain. Deep spasms of grief erupted from my body, and I cried, shuddering, until I could cry no more.

My sister talked to me slowly, quietly. She reminded me how much she loved me, how utterly she cherished me. She quieted my tears. She made me laugh. She brought me back. 

When I told her about the bridge, she said, without hesitation, “Walk across.”