It was nothing less than a veritable storm. Amidst the howling wind and the cold rain, she trudged her way towards the cliff. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ was all she had said. Was what she would say, every single time.
No one in their right minds would choose to do so in such inclement weather. Then again, was she ever one of them?
(Times like these were when she was free to imagine and envisage everything possible about herself, including the very distinct possibility of being mad. You see, a thin line separates an oddball from a lunatic.)
But she plodded on regardless, taking a somewhat masochistic pleasure in the way the rain cut her to the bones and the wind made her shiver all over. The idea of catching a cold (much less pneumonia) was something she refused to entertain.
(Enough with the weather already, anyway)
The cliff looked over an ocean, equally restive. Nonetheless, it broke away from the constricting woods, enough to give one a semblance of a vast space. On a given day, it would be enough to remind her of the immense universe that she could glimpse through the distant horizon.
Today, even the roaring waves seemed to make her feel claustrophobic.
She walked over to the very edge, barely ensconced by the low fence, broken in various places. It was her wont to do, as perilous as it was – to stand at the edge and peer down at the sea crashing against the jagged rocks. One would think she was about to take her life…and sure enough, that would be the very thought running through her head as she would stand there. However, each time, she came back alive.
The point of this otherwise futile exercise being - to reaffirm to herself that her life was in her hands…quite literally, as long as she stood over the edge. That she was free to jump and put an abrupt end to her existence (quite meaningless in her eyes, either way) but she consciously chose to not do so.
That she further chose to get back to living, for as long as she was meant to be.
The thought both sobered and enlivened her. This little ritual, while not doing much to calm her demons, certainly reminded her of her inability to hurt herself to such an extent. That she would snatch back her power from others to whom she had unknowingly surrendered the same, from time to time, only to be affronted by her destiny.
Only to be reminded of how her own creation overpowered her. And so it was – the unceasing struggle, which she would try to defer and avoid, but never quite coming close to ending it altogether.
For, perhaps, that was the only meaning worth being pursued.