I wondered how long it would take me to muster the courage to mention this bridge.

Guess now is the time.

I cross this familiar bridge whenever I go home from work.
It was a long bridge hanging just over a busy avenue with high-speed vehicles on a constant city rush.
It was long enough for me to have time to contemplate how it feels like to be gone in this world forever.
A bridge rarely crossed by pedestrians, a solitary place for an emotionless soul.

There was one night I stopped walking at the middle of that bridge.
With my detached eyes looking over the passing lights of the cars,
I thought maybe I could fall from this height and get hit and dragged by a truck.

I could die on the spot.
Beautiful, I thought.
This place could be such a beautiful place.

To be gone.

The thought enticed me like the aroma of my favorite food.
And at the same time, it sent shivers down my spine
Until soon enough, my mind was clogged by the guilt caused by my thought of wanting to leave the world for my own selfish desires of escape.

I refused to be that coward.
I still remember how I desperately sobbed my way down the bridge.

From then, it was very hard for me to cross the bridge without getting panic attacks.
Nights weren't chilly, but my legs can barely stand straight,
Knees shaking nonstop.

But there's no other way for me to get home and I badly want to bury myself in my sheets.

I have to cross the bridge.

I have to face this path.

I have to endure the heavy weight on my chest. Every single day.

I have to fight these crippling thoughts.


At all costs, I have to get home.