I Look Down Over The Edge Of The Thin Ledge As I Attempt To Scoot Along It. I Can't See The Bottom. I

I look down over the edge of the thin ledge as I attempt to scoot along it. I can't see the bottom. I ponder whether I really love her quite this much. Going to hell and back sounds easy compared with following this goats' path across this cliff face where anything by other than good luck will mean certain death. Especially the comforting "and back" bit. I'm usually so sensible. How on earth did I end up here?

Don't look down. I close my eyes.

I press my back and hands harder into the cliff and slide my right foot a little further along. Then my back. Then my left foot. I peek over my right shoulder. Only another 5 metres.

Right foot. Back. Left foot. Right foot. Back. My left foot gets caught on the uneven terrain. For a moment I wobble, and my stomach lurches (not helping!) I press myself back harder against the cliff and lift my foot over the obstruction.

My therapist would be so impressed with how much I'm living in the moment right now.

I continue until my right foot hits a rock. I try to look down at the rock but the lighting is bad and I can't quite see it. I scoot my left foot over and then trace the rock out with my right. When I come level with my left foot I expect to find more of the ledge, but it's not there. Lowering my right foot further, still no ledge. I raise it again and balance my right foot on the rock. I look further to the right. I'm only 1-1.5 metres from where I need to be. Just out of reach.

I try harder to see if I can see where the ledge resumes. I think I see it, just one stride away. I pull a rock out of the cliff behind me and toss it. I see and hear it bounce off the ledge before falling, falling. I don't hear it hit the bottom.

I mentally rehearse my next moves. I'll bring both feet onto the rock. I'll swing my right foot wide and hopefully hit the ledge where it continues. If I miss... Well, better I don't think about that. My stomach churns and I want to pee. My hands feel clammy. My head starts spinning. I am surprised by how loud my breath sounds. I try to relax, despite pinning myself to the edge of a cliff.

I hate heights.

I breathe deeply and then start enacting my plan. I hesitate one more time, before swinging my foot over the distance. Then commit. For a moment my foot swings through empty air, even as my weight shifts. My stomach lurches again and I wish that I believed in a higher power.

It's an eternity before my foot comes down on the ledge. I pause, straddling the gap, heart beating in my ears. I wiggle my back a little to get more comfortable. I scoot my right foot over just a bit more, then, placing all my weight on it, I swing my left foot down from the rock and over the gap to where my right foot first landed.

Two more steps and I'm off this ledge.

When I reach the bridge, I climb over the railing and fall to my hands and knees. I sob and my whole body shakes with the after effects of the adrenaline. I contemplate curling into a ball. I breathe deeply.

I check my pocket, there she is, still asleep. Unaware of the trials her adventure inspired. My heart melts.

"Get a kitten", my therapist suggested. "It'll help you stay present." Sure, a kitten. But no more outside exploring for you.

Writing Prompt

There was a very brief moment – where it was unwelcome and far too late – where he wondered who managed to talk him into this.

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jarich

2 months ago

These are brilliant

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jarich

8 months ago

im a simple gal, u as someone not on the schizophrenic spectrum say schizo, i avoid the hell out of you

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6 months ago

Why have children if you hate children?

Demons are real and they write for the new york times.

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5 months ago

Growing up is actually all about realizing people don’t inherently dislike you and it’s a bit odd to assume they do

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jarich

2 months ago

Not quite the same, but check out the days ordering on this Weekly Planner fridge magnet that my housemate bought.

We ended up using a label maker to fix Tuesday and Wednesday.

A pink weekly planner magnet, with the days of the week in two columns (and an extra "notes" box). Left to right, top to bottom, the days read: MON, WED TUE, THU FRI, SAT SUN, NOTES There's an annotation in the Tuesday box "Sally, Dinner 4th". The household wasn't sure if that should be understood to be Tuesday (as per the label) or Wednesday (as per the logical ordering of the boxes).

me at any given time: can we just buckle down and focus on the task at hand please???

my brain:

my brain: ……….ranibow sprimkle……………

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jarich

2 weeks ago

It really is wild that some politicians can stand there and say "yeah we're getting rid of a program that keeps quite literally millions of people alive specifically so we can cut taxes for people who are already richer than god" as if it's a normal political stance and not so cartoonishly evil I'm legit shocked perry the platypus doesn't break through the nearest wall the minute the words leave their mouth.

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jarich

4 months ago

Anyway

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jarich

4 months ago

2025 is a good number, it’s a quarter of the way through the 20 hundreds and it’s got that nice set of 2s separated by only a 0. not bad. whatever happens this year at least it’ll be happening during a good number 😌

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jarich

4 months ago

If you decide to read this, just remember you're not obliged to finish reading it. It's a hard read and stopping and watering the garden or making dinner or having a cup of tea and looking at plants are all good self care.

Quick notes below if you can't read the whole article.

The article expands on a story that became public mid 2024, but in short, Gaiman is alleged to be a serial sexual abuser.

During the acute phase of the pandemic, Palmer who was in the process of divorcing Gaiman, befriended a homeless and vulnerable woman, Pavlovich, and offered her a job in being nanny to her and Gaiman's son (shared custody split between two homes). Gaiman could easily have afforded to pay an experienced nanny but somehow ended up having this vulnerable woman, Pavlovich, come play nanny at his as well. Palmer allegedly told him to leave Pavlovich alone, but Gaiman allegedly did not, and allegedly sexually assaulted/raped her repeatedly throughout the time she was their son's nanny. A lot of terrible abuse is detailed, including under-the-covers sexual activity with the lights on in a hotel room with his under-10yo son metres away looking at his tablet.

Payment for the nannying was... spotty at best.

Eventually Pavlovich told Palmer about Gaiman's behaviour. Palmer tried to help Pavlovich during her (very understandable) mental health crisis as a result but was not very effective. Eventually Pavlovich told the police about the alleged assaults and rape. The police said they'd need Palmer to verify her parts of the story, Pavlovich was convinced she would, but Palmer didn't.

Pavlovich is now doing much better far away from the two of them.

Palmer lost everything in the divorce (an outcome she was probably hoping to avoid by keeping her mouth shut) and now lives with her parents. I'm not sure what the custody agreement is for their kid but hopefully it's not 100% with Gaiman.

Gaiman has been doing fine.

The article attempts at various times to blame Gaiman's behaviour on the abuse he probably experienced as a child from Scientology/Dianetics, that he's never talked about but which may have informed some of the child abuse in The Ocean At The End Of The Lane.