I feel like I’m clinging to a cliff face for dear life. It’s a familiar place: I’ve been here a while, a long while, and I’ve been here time and time again. Sometimes I’ve been lifted off the cliff face and up to the top. Helicopters have hovered above me, wrenched me up, shown me the top of the cliff and then
they take the rope away
back to the bottom of the cliff.
But I’m a fighter – something in me refuses to give up even when I wish it would. So I put plasters on the cuts and hope the broken bones mend and then I climb – scrabbling up, slipping back, banging knees, scrapping wrists. I’m tired, so tired. I’m exhausted, so exhausted. I’ve got nothing left. I find a hollow in the cliff and wedge myself into it. It takes everything I’ve…
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