Falling.

I stand on the edge of the cliff, which hangs over an abyss of Addiction. I peer into the darkness below, wondering what would await me if I jumped, and how far down I’d go if I did. Wondering whether I’d be able to climb back up if I didn’t like it down there. Questioning whether the risk was worth taking.

It’s like an itch you know you’re not supposed to scratch, yet your mind makes you think of the relief all the more for it. It’s like running the pad of your thumb over a scab you know you shouldn’t pick at, yet the rough feel, edges perfect for slipping a fingernail under, tempt you anyway. The nail you long to bite, the dessert you’re not meant to eat before dinner but still imagine the taste of… Except multiplied many times over, over a longer period of time.

The wind whispers enticement into my ears, its direction never shifting (always towards the abyss) and sometimes I close my eyes and listen. I spread my arms out, allowing myself to be swayed forward, before my better judgement takes over. I take a step back. Shake it off. Yet stare down anyway, mesmerised.

There are times when I am strong enough to walk as far away as I can.

Those times are often negated, though, when something triggers me and I run forward without thought, catching myself just in time to keep from falling.

It’s like a game Addiction and I play. It calls while I fight to not heed it. We circle around each other but it never needs to attack, and I never seem to retreat far enough to break away from its spell entirely. So I simply keep as much distance as possible.

However, I’m scared one day it might win.

I’m even more scared of me not caring if it does.