I pictured myself standing on the edge several times before. Sometimes the thought shook me—made me quiver to the bone. Just because, maybe, I had managed to dig up some sanity that had been long-lost in the parts of my mind I no longer wished to travel to. I used to be afraid of my mind. It took me to places I thought I was strong enough to avoid. As time went on, though, as the amount of care diminished and the bad thoughts outweighed the good, somewhere along the timeline of my life I broke. It wasn’t any sort of tilt shift or huge realization or mental breakdown. I didn’t cry. I didn’t tremor. My heart did not collapse and I could still breathe.

But one day, I gave up.

I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. It rages inside me and I feel my throat engulfed in flames. I don’t care but now as I think and as I stand I realize I can’t care. There’s nothing left in me. I’m a shell. I used to have so many regrets. I’d bear the burden on my shoulders. I’d care about them.

I don’t care.

No more. I refused to regret. Denied. Rejected. Overruled. No regrets. But I broke. Remember when I broke?

Refusal to regret leads to insanity and

“I am insane!”

It’s like I’ve ached to say these words. I’ve wanted to say them, forever. . The echo that bounces off the crashing waves and plummeting rain drops and metal bridge stretches out for miles, stretches out for hours. I am insane. I am insane.

Throughout the course of history books, movies, and songs give off the message that saying something can alter your entire world. ‘I love you,’ ‘I hate you,’ ‘I need you,’ ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ and so on and so forth. I feel like I am the first person to find peace in admitting insanity. ‘Liberated’ is not an emotion I have felt in the longest time, but now as I stand here, on the bride, with the wind whipping my shirt against me and the rain stinging my face, I feel liberated. I smile. I am free. Insane, but free.

A step forward. The ‘Help Hotline’ telephone is no longer in my line of vision. Not even in the corner of my eye. I’ve never been able to make decisions on my own. Never been allowed to, actually. Those who were meant to take care of me and keep me happy didn’t do a great job and instead berated me for choosing my own path. I’m unstable they’d whisper. I would get mad. I would actually throw fits sometimes. I am not unstable. I am normal.

But I face death with a smile and not a raging heartbeat. I accept who I am. I wish they could see me now. I used to never smile and they would reprimand me for not smiling. Why would I smile if I wasn’t happy?

I wish they could see me now. I wish they could see me now. I’m smiling. I’m happy. I’m liberated. I’m free. The depression is gone, the bad thoughts with it. I care about myself and only myself and this is the path of life I wish to take. The path that ends it.

Another step forward and suddenly there is no floor beneath my feet. My ears are ringing with a white noise. My eyes are closed.

Alarm bells.

Too dramatic. You idiot! Why would you jump? Why would you do this? You let yourself get too close and now you’re screwed. No turning back now! Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no way to lie. You’re done. It’s over. Was this necessary? This was too dramatic, why did you jump? It’s a permanent solution to temporary problems! You idiot, you idiot, you idiot, you idiot, you—

Keep smiling.

I fall for what feels like hours and it’s nice. It’s silent, but I know there’s commotion around me. Living with regrets. I don’t want to. It’s worse than dying without them. I stopped caring; I have no more regrets. But refusal to regret leads to insanity, and now I’m insane. This was my choice. I did this to myself. I want this. I have wanted this. I have this. I have no regrets. They will not dictate who I am. They will not change who I wish to be.

I am insane. I am unstable. I am content.