The breaking point

My back was against the wall. I was drunk and stoned off of sleep deprivation. It was a strain to formulate coherent thoughts and sentences. My stomach had been consumed with an all encompassing anxiety that was making all my decisions. Fear was ruling me. Fear of loss. Fear of abandonment. Fear of leaving.

But staying has been painful and it was growing worse by the moment. I was the slave, the bitch. I allowed it, or I should say my fear allowed it. Soon the pain became unbearable, worse than the fear. I was cornered. I was asked to play the part of peon. I broke.

They broke me. The pain of staying became greater than the fear of leaving. The breaking point, or the turning point, or the jumping off place. They pushed me to the edge and I wouldn't let them keep my soul, I held tight. My spirit won't die. They said, "Hand it over!"

I couldn't do it. I jumped. The moment my feet left the edge my gut relaxed and I became calm. The fear left.