Peering Into the Abyss

When I was happy I loved high places, balconies and rooftops gave
a secret thrill, the Grand Canyon was an exquisite torment, a frisson
of thrilling danger grazed my nerves as I gazed over the edge. I
was a hawk searching out possible prey, an errant feather sliding
sideways on slipping air currents, irresistibly drawn to the fall,
seeing myself stepping over the edge and imagining the flying
freedom, a second-hand thrill, never to be enacted.

Later, when torn in tiny pieces and unable to pull together,
recalling childhood abuse, the death of my child, an
imploding marriage, clinical depression sank in its
claws and what had formerly thrilled then filled
me with terror, and there were no more
balconies for me. I took no mountain
hikes, my feet stayed firmly on
the ground,  for I knew if I
dared to step up to
the abyss I would
at long last see
what it really
meant to
finally
freely
fall.

Tracy Plath