Ok. Im admitting it. I’m barreling toward the ground and spitting out smoke. That’s good tho. Not the tailspin, but that I admitted it. It’s happened before. 3 years ago That’s just how I moved. In a mess of steel and wings and fire. Today I’m a passenger in the mess of steel wings and fire. ****, does that mean I die? Sounds nice right about now. Come on, I don’t mean that it’s just the tailspin, when you’re rotating 100 times per minute and engulfed in flame you just want the next thing, by any means. That’s how you become the tailspin; by thinking of the ground and the bright dazzling blue and how loud everything is and how the fire and free airplane peanuts are dancing around your head and how lush the green looks even though it will screech and contort until the tailspin is no more and the sun sets over fields of grass one last time.

Yeah, when you’re barreling toward the earth you crave that kind of ****. And it makes sense to me. It make sense why someone would want that. In the vertigo induced chaos the ground is not just irresistible, it’s happening. So how do I survive the tailspin? Well, there is no tailspin. Ask your friends: do they see a large aircraft erupting in flames on its course to sweet silence? Of course not. But that’s just it, this is your tailspin and sometimes it’s all you have and you don’t want to share it. Your best friends aren’t around or they just dont see you and time passes like hot acid through your veins until you ARE the tailspin. Am I alone? Sometimes, so when you are, remember this: you’re in the tailspin but you won’t crash. You’re reaching out. Or even calling that ******* 1800 number. Because now you’re a miracle. You survived the tailspin.