I am alive.
I watched a documentary once about free climbing – meaning to climb – let’s say the face of a rock, or a mountain – without the use of aids. I have never been a rock climber, but when I think of my own struggle to stay alive, the image sticks in my mind. Bones cracking against stone, fingers gripping tiny crevices, searching for safe footing. Slipping, slipping. Bleeding. I write as a coping mechanism, and I share my thoughts for the possibility that it may help someone – anyone – feel less alone. suicidepreventionlifeline.org.