I’m Not Insane

November 18, 2016

     I'm not insane. Those are the words that I've been muttering to myself for the past few weeks. But, maybe I am. Maybe it was the insanity that brought me to the roof of my house. The wind whipped in my face, making my eyes water. A light rain was falling and made my hair stick to my neck and forehead. It was in the middle of November, but all I was wearing were shorts and a t-shirt.

     I'm not insane. The voices told me I would be fine. Just jump. I won't fall, I won't die, but instead I'll fly. That's what they said to me, the voices. And maybe that's why, as I stood on the slick two story roof, I wasn't really concerned if my feet slid out from underneath me. Because, I'll fly. I've always wanted to fly, ever since I was younger, before the anxiety took away all the dreams and replaced them with fear and stress. 

     I'm not insane. There was a woman at the window calling my name. It was my mom. She didn't like the voices, I heard her talking to my grandpa about them. They scare her. They used to scare me, but now they're my friends, and they'll let me fly. I wanted to fly. I didn't listen to my mom's voice.

     I'm not insane. Those were the last words I thought, then slowly, I inched my way towards the edge of the roof. Mom was calling again, louder this time. I dangled one foot over the ledge, then the other, and gravity took control.