The Explanation

Ambrosia

So before I get into the actual story, I'm going to tell you a little bit about it first. See, I'm depressed, but there are a lot of my friends, one in particular, who aren't. I really want to talk to them about it, to let them know how I'm feeling, but I know that they'll never fully understand what it's like to feel yourself falling apart and not being able to do anything about it.
One night, while lying in my bed thinking about it, I thought of this sort of story, sort of metaphor. So here it is.

You're on the top of a mountain in summer. The air is warm, friendly, fresh and clear. The sun is shining and the breeze is caressing your skin and running loving fingers through your hair. You are loving every minute of it, but you aren't exactly aware of how good you have it.
Then something changes. You slip a bit in your perfect happiness. You might not slide much at first, but you drop. You might not even realize you've fallen until you realize that the air is not quite as clear; the sunshine isn't quite as warm, and there are a few more clouds in the sky. It doesn't seem too bad and you've never really learned how to climb, so you stay there. You learn to deal with the clouds and to savour the sun when it appears.

There then comes a period of rain. It starts out as a mere drizzle, but quickly morphs into a heavy downpour interspersed with rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning. You're wet and tired and you can't see an end to it. Then, because of the rain, a landslide happens.

Suddenly you're clinging to the side of the mountain in desperation, wondering, "How did it come to this?" You manage to pull yourself up onto a small ledge. You huddle there, waiting for the rain to stop. Eventually it does, but the sky is still grey and the small stabs of sunlight that reach you aren't quite enough to keep the shadows at bay. You look back up at that sunlit peak and, for the first time, realize just how far you've fallen.Climbing back up seems impossible but a small voice whispers in your mind that you can make it; you can climb back up.
So you start the arduous climb back to the paradise you once had. You seem to be making pretty good headway and things are looking up. And then it happens. The ground under your feet shifts again and, once more, you find yourself clinging to bare rock. This time, however, you lack the strength to hold on. You fall down, down, down. You feel the wind catching at your hands, your feet, your limbs, but this wind is not your friend. Not this time.

You hit the bottom and lay, winded and numb. Nothing hurts yet; you feel nothing and see nothing. Then, in the gloom at the foot of the mountain, you slowly regain feeling. The first thing you feel is pain - overwhelming pain.

Pain that threatens to drag you under. In your heart you wish for the numbness that used to be. Next, in the darkness, you being to hear THINGS. Things that you are unable to see as of yet. They gibber senseless words at first but, all too quickly, the words string themselves to for sentences you'd rather not hear.
"Failure" they say, "Why are you alive? Look at what you had. You've lost it now. You'll never get it back."
The wind whips around you again, bringing on a fresh wave of pain.
You cry out, an almost inhuman sound that echoes around the vast canyon that you now reside in. You try to remember the sun; the flowers, but it seems to be as a dream. What is real now are the hard rocks and perpetually overcast sky. Little by little your eyes adjust to the gloom and you can now see that things that torment you.
They are creatures of nightmares. Beasts akin to wolves, but no wolf could ever be as terrifying. They draw around you circling, watching for some sign of weakness that they can use against you. You tremble in fear.

You draw yourself up though, trying desperately not to let your fear and pain show. They continue whispering words, hideous word that you try to block. Eventually, worn and defeated, you succumb and commence believing all they say.
"Broken" they murmur.
"Yes, broken; irreparable" you respond.
You spend so much time down in the valley that you forget what used to be. You now think that it has always been like this, that this isn't so bad. At least you KNOW where you are even if it isn't a good place. You begin to change slowly. It is only when you are already half beast that the clouds part for a moment and a single ray of sunshine falls across you face. It illuminates you skin, dries the tear-stains, eases the pain a bit, and makes you remember what you used to be. You look down, horrified at what you have become.
A forgotten memory appears; a hazy picture of a forgotten world. A sunlit peak up where the breeze was not your enemy. You look up at the mountain and experience a moment of despair. But you puck it back and begin the climb to paradise. You fall back often, but you persevere.
After what seems like years of climbing, you are able to see the top gleaming in the sunlight. You look down, astonished that you can still see the bottom with all its beasts watching your every move. You shrug your shoulders and turn your face once again towards the sun.

You are surprised to feel its warmth. You had forgotten that such concepts of "warm" existed. You are almost at the top when it starts to rain again. You huddle against the mountainside, hoping - praying - that you will not fall again. You can feel the ground beneath your feet sliding slowly down, bringing you inexorably closer to the not-wolves below. You jump with all you might and just manage to cling to the ledge above you as the previous ledge slides away into the looming darkness. for a second you are frozen, staring into the darkness that once consumed you.

The sun comes out again and you turn to climb further up, but find you cannot; there is no path to the bright mountaintop you so long for. That peak was for innocence, for joy. Now that you know the darkness - now that you have been broken - you can no longer return there. You can no longer be whole.
This saddens you at first but then you learn to cherish how high you've gotten. You learn to be content. You enjoy the now-warm breeze that caresses your face almost exactly how it used to. You can still feel the sunlight, but you know that it is weaker and, in your heart of hearts, you resent that.

Every once in a while, you fall again. Sometimes it is a short fall, other times, a long fall. Upon occasion you hear the howls of the beasts below you and, despite yourself, you answer in kind. Some days find you clinging by your fingertips to the mountain's rocky side, trying to find the courage and strength to pull yourself back up; clutching the rock so hard you cut yourself. Yet always you manage to pull yourself back up,hands and wrists bleeding, to sit on another ledge and enjoy the sunlight for a while.
Other days you wish you were at the bottom again so that you wouldn't have to deal with the constant strain of slipping, falling, and climbing back up again. But in the back of your mind you know that if you fall that far again, the bottom will no longer be rocky. There will be a pool of water, cold and murky, that will slowly sap your strength and your will to live. You will drown. You know this because it haunts you dreams, and you know that you are capable of doing anything - ANYTHING - to keep yourself from hitting the bottom again.