I died on a Tuesday morning. At least that’s how the story goes. Grey sky hanging over everything… Wind cutting through my clothes. I stood looking at the distance… Thinking I’d already lost. Thinking every road behind me… Had been paid for at too high a cost… No more deadlines. No more pressure. No more proving who I am… No more wondering why I’m broken. No more failing another plan. Because I’m dead. No more worries. No more dread. No more mountain left to climb. No more running out of time. I’m dead. No more battles in my head. No more needing to succeed. Because dead men don’t need dreams. And I thought about my children. The lives that would go on. The birthdays and the Christmases, The moments I would miss when gone. I thought about my wife. The empty side of the bed. The thousand little conversations…. That would never be said. My parents growing older. My friends raising a glass. Trying to make sense of the question… “How did this come to pass?” And then I jumped. Silence. Sky. Rocks. Darkness. Sean… Wake up. What? Wake up. Wake up. What? Wake up. But I wasn’t lying on the rocks. I wasn’t broken there below. I was sitting in a chair one morning…. Watching sunlight through the window. The medication had started working. Just enough to let me breathe…. Just enough to make tomorrow Feel slightly easier to believe. The noise was turning down. The fog was lifting slow. The bloke I’d thought was gone forever Wasn’t gone at all. And I’m alive. Still worried. Still scared. But somehow carrying it better Than I ever thought I’d bear. Alive. Still standing here instead. And all those things I thought were finished Were only sleeping in my head. I didn’t die. The hopelessness did. And thank God It wasn’t the same thing.
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