Do you know the difference between dread and terror? If you've never been in a situation like mine, you might not have given such things any thought. Lucky you.
Terror is the acute state of fear; it's when the monster is attacking, or someone is pointing a loaded gun at your head. It's the fear about something that's happening right now. Dread is the anticipation. It's this deep pit of hopelessness that the terror is coming; that the terror is always on its way. Always. It's hopelessness - the certainty that the fear is omnipresent and that it will never, ever end. I don't know which of those two has taken the bigger toll. The terror strikes in the moment, but the dread is always lurking. They feed off each other, parasitically, and I'm the unwitting host for both. I don't remember a time when it wasn't like this. My mind has been infected since I could form memories, and I've never been able to escape. I would say I had dreams of becoming something more, but I can barely even conceptualize what those dreams were. Could I have been a doctor, an artist, a writer? I don't know. The background noise and intense fear have kept those dreams from even taking shape. The dread. The terror.
Put those two together, and you have a living nightmare. And you have the reason why I'm here, at this bridge. Some no-name bridge built decades ago. Well, I'm sure it has a name; we just call it the bridge. It's a semi-rusted mess, an old train track or something. It's one of those things I've never given much thought.
You see, the bridge goes over a decent-sized river below. The river has a name, which I won't be divulging. You can jump in from the middle of the bridge, hit water, and swim to the side. It's easy enough to do. The edges, though – nothing below but solid rock. That's where I am. About 70 feet up; it should be plenty. Even if I somehow survived, I doubt it would be for long. And that's my target. Those jagged rocks are the means to my death – a release from this horror. It's the only option left.
I've tried everything. Medication, meditation, therapy. Talk therapy. Group therapy. Behavioral modification. Drugs. real drugs. Nothing worked. Seriously, nothing. Psych-prescribed benzos, opioids. Heroin. Coke. Ketamine. LSD. Meth. METH. It didn't work. METH didn't work.
Even now, the fear eats away at my soul: not the fear of dying - the fear of living like this, with the raw, bleeding, pulsing terror forever inside of me. I just want it to be silent. I put my head against the iron, or steel pillar or whatever it is. I don't know. I'm not a bridge guy. It's cold out, freezing cold, and the metal is like ice against my skin.
"Hey there..."
I nearly meet my end slightly earlier than intended, my still-somehow-there survival instincts kicking in and pitching me backwards at the shock of the voice of a woman practically on top of me.
As my heart rate drops back down to its normal catastrophic rate from extra-catastrophic, she continues.
"You look like you might be having a bad day."
She was dressed inappropriately for the weather, and even more so for the environment. A long, emerald green dress far too long for outdoors – and certainly for an ancient bridge – adorned her body. Her eyes matched the dress, while her long, bright red hair contrasted magnificently with her pale, porcelain skin. She was shockingly beautiful - not just for a random bridge woman, either - but truly stunning. She smiled. And giggled at my close call with the rocks below. Again, inappropriate for the situation.
"You were going to jump, weren't you? But we're over the rocks... oh. oh my."
I wouldn't call it concern, exactly. More like impish disapproval. Finally, I regained enough composure to speak.
"What... are you doing here? I didn't even see you climb onto the bridge."
"You were going to jump onto the rocks. But you would have surely died," she continued. None of this was new information.
"You were thinking about ending it. The despair, the hopelessness. It had become too much, hadn't it? Inescapable. A constant. Never a moment's relief from the horror. Awake, pure terror. Asleep, endless nightmares. Not a single second where peace prevails. I've seen it before. And I've helped before."
I didn't respond.
She turned away - just a bit - and continued.
"It seems like there's no other way out, doesn't it? The crushing, nonstop pressure and strain eventually push you to the brink. You start to wonder, how could anything be worse than this? It's never going to stop. Why shouldn't I end the torture? Even the abyss, the void, must be better. At least the screaming terror in your head will end. It'll be quiet. The anxiety, the dread - it can all be over."
She was right. That's why I was here. I could only nod, as the tears started.
"I understand what you're going through. When you're inside the storm, it's all you can see. Darkness, fear, and hatred. Self-hatred, mostly, for your inability to navigate the rigors of life that everyone goes through. 'Why are you so weak?' you think. 'Everyone deals with stress and pain. They don't wind up on a bridge, dangling from the edge, though.'"
"It's not your fault. You can't bear the burden alone, or the storm will consume you. You can't think your way out of it. No one can do that. When you're in the storm, it seems so lonely. But help – my help - is just outside, waiting for you to reach through and ask."
She placed her hand gently on mine, as I started crying openly in front of this total stranger, atop a bridge.
"I know it feels like you're trapped in the darkness by yourself, but you can fight your way out. We can beat this. Come with me. I'll take the terror from you. I can be your inspiration to a new way of life – one of creation, not death. I can be your muse on this journey – it doesn't have to end like this."
She smiled at me. This bizarre angel, seemingly out of nowhere, sent to talk me out of the leap. "Everyone has a purpose – a gift, talents, abilities. Everyone. They - you - just need a way to bring those to the surface." She kissed me - gently - for just a moment, then paused:
"Huh."
She took my hand, clasping it with both of hers, and smiled again.
I could only nod through the tears.
She kissed me again, longer, deeper, then backed away.
She sighed as the smile departed from her face.
"This is awkward."
"...W-What is?"
"...Almost everyone has a purpose."
Then she pushed me.