There’s something about free fall that really fucks me up.
Maybe it’s in the way my gut drops when I lose solid footing, the sudden change in what I had thought to be a constant- the pull of gravity, the force that normally keeps me down suddenly becoming an accelerant, burning the wick of my life away in an inevitable rendezvous with the planet.
Or maybe it’s the visceral terror of the wind, whipping over and around me, violently stripping me of warmth, screaming in my ears with an escalating tone, drowning out thought and leaving barely any room for raw, animalistic fear. It takes away my sight, too, ever so forcefully drawing past my eyes and bringing out tears, not even allowing me the luxury to blink them away.
Perhaps, it’s something more intellectual. The knowledge that I will die, the idea that my body will yield against the world from which I arose. I can imagine it, in excruciating detail. The impact, the way that impulses will course through my body, subjecting it to forces I was most certainly not rated for, and shattering me like so much brittle glass. I take solace only in how it will be over quickly, my pain but a passing fancy.
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It’s terrifying. It’s not even raw fear anymore. I have built up a lifetime’s worth of brutal anti-fantasies, waking nightmares that keep me scared of falling, that make me hold onto anything or anyone, anytime I must change elevations. It’s a polished skyscraper of terror, menacing me with my every breath. And the worst thing is, I built it; piece by piece, scenario by scenario, a steady monument to a breathtakingly intense phobia.
It may or may not be a surprise, then, that I am fascinated by the thought as well. Something about it draws me in, attracting me even as I recoil in fear. Maybe it’s in the idea of finally finding out what really happens when I fall, an inextinguishable spark of curiosity driving my anxious ideation. Or maybe it’s just a cosmic twist of irony, a grand coincidence of instinct and habituation driving me in conflicting directions. Perhaps, it’s simply an attempt by my brain to make me slightly less paralyzed by fear, balancing it out with a healthy dose of thrill seeking.
Maybe I’ll figure myself out some day. I’m leaning more towards having a heart attack before that, though. It doesn’t matter, really, because at the moment I’m still a terrible mess. That’s been a fact of my life, and it’s not going to change anytime soon. But I think setting this out helped a bit. A tiny bit, but nevertheless, improvement.