"I get knocked down, but I get up again"

Only people who suffer from mental illness – like severe depression, for instance – can truly understand why those poor people leapt out of the Twin Towers when they had been attacked and planes rammed into them on the 11th of September, killing so many innocent people.

On that terrible and tragic day, people were seen jumping from windows over 100 feet high – to their deaths.

Others watched in shock, thinking “What are they doing?!?”

Why are people jumping from the building?

But those of us who have suffocated in the depths of despair know.

Those of us who can’t live the lives we used to…the ones where we used to enjoy life, genuinely like things, feel things, participate actively in meaningful experiences and long bitterly for the lives we lived before mental illness got it’s steely grip around our throats, we know why.

Because when you are that fucking distressed – because an AEROPLANE HAS SUDDENLY CRASHED THROUGH YOUR OFFICE WALLS and killed coworkers who were just a minute ago laughing at a joke someone shared…when you are in that incredibly high state of “What the fuck is happening right now?”…

…then logic and reasoning completely disappear…

…and you think to yourself “If I jump out the window, at least I won’t burn to death, choking on the ashes of a friend I just went for coffee with 20 minutes ago”

AND IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE.

So you do it.

You jump.

And only the people whose hearts are shattered almost beyond repair for absolutely no fucking reason at all apart from a chemical imbalance in our brains…we understand.

I see you, flying…falling business man. I see your dove grey Hugo Boss suit jacket trailing in the sky, ruffled around you like expensive plumes of material as you fall.

I see your Italian leather shoe separating from your foot and trailing behind you as you plummet downwards.

I see you.

I get it.

I understand why you did it.

If I don’t get some sleep soon, I might consider jumping, myself.