The harsh western winds beat at my face, a cold and bitter sting left on my skin. Here I hang on the edge of a cliff, swaying slightly with the wind, looking occasionally down to the blank depth below me. The ground is so exceedingly far below me that the colors of the landscape twist and turn, blurred into a marred image of the desert I have traveled and loved. The arms beside me are burned with dried blood from my callused, cracked hands, and I feel weak and empty. That drive to fight for what my life has become has leaked out of my being and slowly dripped to the dust below, the fervent will to survive has slowly left me as I become more and more tired and as my body seems to grow heavier and heavier. I came to be here because I had grown to despise the dank landscape behind me, yet I refuse to fall because I can't quite see the world below.

This is one place you can not stay. Eventually you will have to either crawl back on to the ground above you, the monotonous existence serving as the usurper of a life once vibrant, or you will have to fall and give your self to the land below.

Yesterday I fell.

My grasp relented, my stubbornness and intractability to move finally thwarted by the nature of life. I shed my masks, my facades, the costumes that have become my person; I stepped out of these self-made beauties. And yet, it was not a loss. I had not given up to see my opponent laugh and fly with victory, I had simply made a move I had lusted after and feared for a long time. I allowed my body to jerk limp, thrusting my self into the cavernous space below me, twisting and turning. The wind blows against my bare back, beating me as I grow faster and faster until I reach terminal velocity and simply fall. I am terrified but free, scared but ecstatic to move my hands and arms and feel the beautiful elation that comes with change.

My release is anything but glorious, however; my eyes are drained and the vivacity that has possessed my face for so long is no longer present. I haven't been sure of my surroundings since I told my mother that I have been seeing Elisse and that I wasn't going to stop just because she used to be bi (or whatever). I haven't felt stable or secure since I told her that she had given up so much for a life I don't respect or enjoy, since I told her that I'm not sure I wish to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. My passion is this doctrine, this philosophy, the leaders and the community, but I cannot bear the sight of what my family has done for it. I could never live for this the way they do, I could never bear such unhappiness in the name of service. I love her and I quake in the sight of her ability to be truly selfless and live for her children, her family. I see the wisdom in her rules, in her kindness, in her passions, but I don't know if I want to live in Utah anymore. I don’t know if I want to live with her anymore. I don't wish to play for those at school that I work so hard to convince; I will not create for them. I create for no one.

I create for no one. I write for no one. I live for no one but myself.

Breath has never been this satisfying; the pain induced by this icy wind has never been more bittersweet upon my lips. The freedom to relax and to lie limp is mine, as I fall I can move in ways I never have before. My body, however, is still as lifeless as before, my eyes still tired and apathetic, glazed and fatigued. Even with this change, I am not excited, just curious: curious to see where I fall.