Breathe in. Breathe out. My eyes are closed. I am ready. I run and launch myself from the very top of the jungle gym. The moment my feet leave the worn platform, my world is turned upside down, and I am powerless to stop it. The dark, starry night sky flips repeatedly over and over but the ground, once so close, seems to slither far below me. For a moment, I am flying, lighter than the soft evening mist that encases me as I fall. I feel free, and the exhilaration of freedom is intoxicating. Everything is unreachable, everything is untouchable; I am invincible.

Crushing reality interrupts my flight too soon. I barely register the dense thud on the back of my skull as it smashes into the ground, but I clearly hear a sharp crack. It rings through my ears for an eternity. A guttural sound escapes my throat as I feel the air leave my chest. The landscape is spinning, the sky swirling in closer and closer until the stars melt together to become one blindingly vibrant beacon of light. As the whirlpool of stars closes in, I take one last blurred look at my surroundings before plunging into the murkiness of my own personal sea of uncertain darkness, of torn feelings, of confusion. The rest of the world no longer exists in the same universe as I do. And then everything is gone.

When I was in preschool, my teacher often reprimanded me for not paying attention. Let us all rest our heads, she would say. Please be quiet children, and let us rest our heads. I could not listen, and I could not even begin to imagine following such an order. The world was too full of exciting new adventures. There were simply too many other things to think about, and far too many pictures books to read, blocks to stack, and play dough to mold into amusing shapes. I could not quietly rest my head.

With my family, I presented the same problem. As I grew older, I still had trouble resting my head. Argument after argument ensued. Slammed doors and hurt feelings were the norm, and I never thought twice about it. The many nights spent alone pondering my disagreements with parents and friends did not bother me. Conflict was part of who I was, what I cherished, but no one understood. I craved the attention, the recognition that my actions were somehow affecting those around me.

I never knew why I acted out, mouthed off to my parents, wrecked havoc among my household. It was simply in my nature. Regardless of where I was or who I was with, I always found a way to express my opinion, and always found a way to refute those who opposed me. Undoubtably, I was a difficult child to handle.

The never ending conflict between my family and I did not let up, despite the best efforts of my parents. I advanced to the later grades of elementary school. The rebellious streak I had developed shined through my every action. My teachers grew disgruntled and exasperated. She just needs to focus. She just needs to apply herself. She just needs to listen.

When the darkness begins to lift, I reluctantly depart from my quiet dreamland and reenter reality. The aching in my head is too much. As I regain some control over my movement, I raise my hand to my forehead and a pulsating explosion rips through brain. Stars pop in front of my eyes and I cry out, nearly fall back into my comfortable state of darkness, where there is no pain, no confusion. Why am I here. But no one is here with me, not really. No one can help me, no one can change what has happened. I wanted to be envied, respected by my peers. I curse myself for my actions. All I wanted to do was prove them wrong.

I cannot bring myself to stand. The crowd that had once gathered around me had long dispersed. What have I done. I gingerly test the functionality of my limbs. I breathe deeply and sit up slowly, carefully. My head pounds with every movement, blurring my vision and causing the world tip sideways every now and then. I prod the back of my head and feel a small sticky spot. A slow trickle of blood runs down my neck. Panic floods through me, overwhelming my senses. The darkness threatens to overtake me. I will my eyes to remain open, if only for one more brief moment.

My middle school years were rapidly approaching. I struggled to grapple with who I was as a person, but had not lost that innate desire for attention. In an attempt to gain friends, or at the very least an audience, I would show off. Little things at first, such as finishing my reading assignment first and ceremoniously closing my book with a triumphant smile, or being the first third grader that year to swing across the entire monkey bars on the middle school playground. Eventually, my actions grew increasingly brazen, and overtime I became more of a spectacle to my peers than anything else. A spectacle to be gawked at, but not admired, and not respected.

A new game became popular among my class when I was in fourth grade. When the teachers were not watching, we would challenge each other to jump from different parts of the playground. Occasionally, an adult would catch us playing this game and put an immediate end to it. They gave us warnings about the dangers of our activities, explaining that one of us might fall, break a leg or an arm, and heaven forbid, hurt our heads. My parents, upon learning about my involvement in this pastime absolutely forbid me to take part. Why don’t you just listen, they would say, exasperated with my defiance.

I paid them no mind. They simply did not understand what fun was. Our game was ruthless, the competition cutthroat. Whoever could jump from the highest point was considered the bravest, the most worthy of upmost respect among classmates. I could not let such an opportunity pass me. I would not only try; I would win.

I met my first opponent on a gloomy November day during recess. Thomas was a short, fidgety kid with crumbs always sticking to his shirt, hair, and face. He always hung out with the self-proclaimed “daredevils” of the fourth grade, and was known for his brazen stunts and swaggering attitude. His blue backpack stayed with him wherever he went, and the playground was no exception. The challenge finally came; I bet I can climb that jungle gym faster than you can. The blue backpack swung back and forth in his hands. I bet I can jump off the very top, and you won’t be able to. Back and forth the blue backpack swung. I watched it closely, intently. You are a fraidy cat. I am the bravest.

It is getting late. I should be back inside by now. An yet, here I am, lying here beside the little yellow slide with a sore head and broken pride. My arms and legs work a little better now, so I very slowly kneel. I examine my arms and legs, trying to make out the extent of my injuries. I see the doors to the school open. A few parents start filing out the doors. I really need to get back inside. But I can’t stand, the pressure in my head is building, building until I can’t take it anymore. I let out a shriek and fall back onto the gravel.


Clouds hung overhead in a thick gray mass, unwelcoming and ugly. It would start raining anytime now. An icy wind had sprung up and lazily pushed fallen leaves around the cement parking lot as students stood around in cliques, their teeth chattering in response to the bitter cold. The swing set and all other outdoor activities had been abandoned, as students simply idly bided time in the bleak winter weather. While most simply sat around talking amongst themselves, I was busy scoping out the school jungle gym.

The competition would begin as soon as the recess monitor made her rounds to the basketball court. We would be out of sight for at least ten minutes. My opponent and I started to climb. In the back of my mind I heard the voices of my parents. Please listen to your teachers. They know what is best for you. We know what is best for you. Don’t be so rash, why must you never listen? Their voices were distant, useless. I kept climbing, until I had reached the very top platform of the jungle gym.

A small group had gathered nearby. As I scrambled onto the worn wooden surface, Thomas, without any fear or hesitation, made the fateful leap. He soared through the air for ages, and gracefully landed before the crowd. Cheers erupted, and then every gaze fell onto me. I peered over the edge. The ground seemed so far. My heart was racing. I had never been to this particular platform before. It was so very far away from the ground. My palms sweat, my throat feels tight. I scoot closer to the edge. Everyone was gazing at my expectantly. But I can’t do this. Not from way up here. I am close to tears now. The recess monitor strolls around the corner, and the crowd below me quickly disbands. I am left staring at my feet at the very top of the jungle gym. The bell rings. Come inside everyone.

I only have one chance to make things right again. My pride is hurt, and I am burning inside. How could I have lost? It really was not that far to jump. When the monthly Parent Teacher Association meeting arrives, I make my move. I will jump from the top of the jungle gym. I will prove to myself that I can do this. It doesn’t take much; I quietly slip away from the unsuspecting parents and make my way to the playground. The evening is cool. The wind whips my hair around me, and I pull my jacket closer. Darkness is falling, but I won’t let that stop me. Up and up I climb. Higher with every step, I don’t let my chattering teeth or frozen, slippery fingers stop me. The end is approaching. I stare down at the ground below me and begin to lean towards the edge. Breathe in. Breathe out. My eyes are closed. I am ready.

Someone has spotted me. I struggle to stand and hold my balance. What were you thinking? They draw closer. Shouts and yelling ensue. Is she hurt? Oh my God, is that blood? Where are her parents? I don’t have to wait long. My mother swoops down from the crowd, instructing me to lie still. A tear slips down my cheek at the sight of her, followed by many others as I realize what I have done, what has happened to me.

If I had only listened. If I hadn’t been so careless. Why did I jump in the first place? My need for attention had grown out of control, the recklessness inside of me clawed to escape, to tear me apart at every waking moment. My head pounded, and my vision blurred. For once, I embraced the pain. I deserved it. Who was I but an obnoxious little kid who was willing to risk her life for the sake of rebelling against those who actually cared about her safety. Would Thomas care that I made the jump? No, he would not. He wasn’t even here, and he would never know of the events of this evening. I understood my flaws, and understood that they were the reason I was lying here, barely conscious with crumpled pride and a dizzying sense that things would only become much worse if I did not change. Is this who I want to be?

And then everything is gone.