I am standing on a staircase, on the seventeenth step, but the eighteenth onwards has no bannister, up until now, I've had a safety net, something to lean on when the steps aren't lit properly.
'Now', I tell myself, 'I've seen people who have fallen and manage to grip to the edge and pull up...towards the next'. 'But I've seen people fall and never get up'.
I say; 'Am I another statistic? Am I another failure? Am I another mangled corpse for the cleaners? Or... Am I going to lift my leg and take that step? Am I to ignore the thoughts? Am I stronger than I let myself think?'
I lift my leg.
Upwards and onwards, I guess.
I realised last night that I'm closer to being eighteen than I've ever been. After I'm eighteen is nineteen, and so on, which may sound painfully obvious, but I mention this because I'm afraid.