I strode across the bridge with an air of
sophisticated confidence only ever achieved by
those who know exactly what their fate is,
my head held high and my hand running along the rail
preventing me from plunging into the unknown.
Every so often, I stole a glance at the water;
a rushing black abyss moving faster, stronger
than the wind running its hands through my hair.
The darkness seemed morbidly inviting to the cynic in me;
if I ‘fell’ would I just disappear? Or would I struggle,
would I realise that I wasn’t ready to be non-existent?
They told me to be careful on the edge of fast flowing water
because you could get swept up in a multitude of currents,
but as I looked into the river below, I noticed something.
My mind was full to the brim with deep, dark waters,
hundreds of currents pulling thoughts this way and that.
I was the fast flowing water, I was the multitude of currents
pulling others into a deeper and darker abyss,
and yet, my surface was calmer than ever, emotionless,
unknowing of the disturbed contents beneath.
I closed my eyes and imagined what it would be like,
to tear off my coat and abandon my bag on the pavement,
leaving everything I knew and loved behind,
to feel the wind that whipped through my hair tear
through the thin layer of clothes that kept me from being vulnerable,
and yet I was open to the elements, they could have me.
I wondered if I would clamber over the railing and indulge
in a final few seconds of serenity before falling,
or if I would flail and scream as though it were an accident.
Would I struggle as the currents pulled me under,
or would I take my last gasp of winter air and look
at the London skyline for one last time before disappearing?
Because I’d be a fucking idiot to not admit that sometimes
I think that the world would be better off without me,
if I disappeared in the blinking sound of a rushing splash
and no longer existed to the people I hated and adored.
To no longer exist apart from in someone’s mind seems beautiful,
to be a memory of a small handful of people, something thought of
fondly, sadly, but then I think about who would find my body.
A bloated, waterlogged corpse of a teenage girl isn’t beautiful,
and self-destruction, self-eradication is so much worse.
The world needs those who need it most, and without them
the planet would crash and burn under selfishness and greed,
instead of flourishing and being full of those who respect the home
we so rightly deserve. And I needed this world more than ever
when I stood looking over the edge of that bridge.
I needed people who wouldn’t just walk past and say to their kids
‘Well, she doesn’t seem in a good way...’ before moving onto the
next tourist attraction, I needed something to keep me from thinking
that the water needed me more than the world did.
No one’s going to stop me from falling, tumbling into an icy cold
river of death, riding down to meet Hades who warms us with his flames.
The world’s always going to shit, but we can dance and drink and sing,
and enjoy everything we’d enjoy if we were living, breathing,
not the massive fuck-ups we always think we are.
So what if I’m always looking over the edge of a bridge,
at the things that could kill me without trying?
I’m still alive, I’m still breathing, fighting, laughing and kind of always crying,
and I’ll be here for a long, long time. Don’t pull me away
from the water, I am the water. I am destructive and calm,
I can boil over and cool almost instantly. I could drag you in,
drown you in all of my personal issues and over-dramatised problems.
But I’ll never drown myself.