The Void

 I've probably used this metaphor before, but bear with me.

There's this pit. This gaping, huge void that stretches almost as far as I can see. I spend a lot of time on the sloping sides, trying to climb out or, at the very least, not fall further in. Sometimes I make it out, into the sunshine, and get to walk along the edge. It's precarious: the smallest slip could see me plummeting back in, and I never get to move too far away from the pit. It's always there, close, and I can never forget about it. I can never let my guard down.

I don't know if I've ever reached the bottom. I'm scared of what might be down there. But there's definitely been time when I've been lying in a local minimum, having fallen hard. And after a while - whether minutes, hours or days - I somehow find the energy to stand again. And think about climbing out. 

People help, of course. Friends, family, colleagues, mental health professionals, even random strangers from the internet - they all reach out and help pull me up towards the light. They offer encouragement, and point out how far I've already come. If nothing else, they keep me company - from alongside me or from above. And it is mostly for them that I keep trying. 

But it is tiring, and frustrating, and all too often I just cannot find a path. Hand- and foot-holds I once used are missing. Routes others have taken crumble away beneath me. Every time I fall, I wonder if I will fall further than I have before. Sometimes the top seems impossibly far away. And the depths of the void keep calling to me, tempting me to let go, to see if there even is a bottom, or if I would just keep falling forever. 

Of course, nothing lasts forever. Not cold November rain, not stars, and not even falling into the void.