trigger up: that bridge too far


trigger warning for suicidal ideation and self-harm.

i want to tell you this secret because you love me with your reading, and i love you back with this telling.
i was both disappointed and relieved when they closed the fence on the bridge, after they had installed phones to a suicide hotline and after peoples’ choices to end their own lives had disturbed other lives who chose to continue on.
i still say in deference that ‘if x then i would find myself on [the bridge],’ but i don’t mean it as much now as i once did, because i can’t.
i do still know the buses i would take, how much fare costs at mid-day and at early morning, or on a sunday. wouldn’t need the all-day pass, now would i?
but it has been a long time since i checked the bus schedule and counted minutes before i called someone and said, please. please please, i need you to come, and waited, choking on tears, terrified of my own hands and what they might or might not be able to do.
a strange calm comes over after the call, emergency halted. i can’t go anywhere now, because she’s coming and someone has to let her in. it’s a dark night, but her eyes and hands are bright.
the long time is not so long, i am so young. in between the time when we said off, the time we said on, and oh yes, the time when we said off again.
anyways. i am thinking of the way that she carried me that night in her cool, pale hands, until i was safely on the other side.
survival is one step at a time across the bridge, but sometimes you need someone to carry your steps for a little while. tricky thing is to make sure they don’t carry you too far, make sure at the end you’re still standing on your own two, and not theirs.


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