The Pit

A word spew I did when I was in a bit of a "bad" place. It's sad. I'm sorry. ):

I wake alone in a small pit. The edges are high and vast, rocky and steep like the face of a cliff. I walk around the perimeter, it takes less than a minute, the pit is tiny. I take a seat in the centre to ponder my escape when a ball of paper falls at my feet. I study it momentarily before picking it up and unravelling it. "Appointment on Monday" it simply says. I straighten out the creases and place it neatly beside me. Another lands to my left. "Work due tomorrow" it reads. I place this next to the other. More appear around me, increasing in frequency. I try to arrange them neatly with the rest but it soon becomes a frantic struggle. My fingers are cut and bleeding from the panicked speed. Each piece symbolising a thought, fear or worry. Soon I'm surrounded, the paper turns to rock and weighs me down. Burying me. Smothering me. I cannot escape.

I awaken quietly. The thoughts are gone. I am alone in my pit. I must escape. I must scale the walls. I begin to climb, each step up takes time and patience. Finding the right footholds and clinging for dear life. For every step I take it feels like I have taken two back. Progress is slow and anything but steady. Finally I reach the halfway mark. Something hits my head. A thought-rock. I begin to shudder as more rain down. My climbing turns into clambering. Hurried and frantic. Against all odds I reach the lip. People are milling above, family and friends, coworkers and peers. I hail one close to the edge. My voice is hoarse and laboured. They see me! I begin to beg for help, but they're talking, telling me their problems. I listen and help them unravel their web of confusion. A light pings on above them. They've solved it! They nod a thanks and walk away. I am forgotten. My fingers are losing grip on the edge. Every muscle aches. The grip is lost and I tumble backwards. An exhausting darkness takes me. I have lost.