I'M NOT ADRIFT | Eminem

They Might Jump

In that moment, my first thoughts were that she had listened in on my thoughts.
She was a psychic.
She looked like a psychic, dressed in draping gold jewelry, delicately thin chains holding little charms and tiny stars encrusted with diamonds.

"I don't know... I think that every time I'm up high."
I came to the conclusion that she was most likely not psychic.
That or a phantom of my imagination.
I had better rational skills back then.
"Though maybe it's bad for me too"

I used to be scared of heights when I was much younger.
It felt strange knowing that.
That's the only way that I could prove, at least to myself, that I had changed as a person.
I mean, there were plenty of other examples... but this is the only one that had a painfully depressing weight to it.

"I wouldn't do it... I don't think you would either... but sometimes you think... maybe this is the answer to all the unanswered questions... or- or that screaming in the back of your head."
Her voice was warm.
Like a mug full of Earl Grey tea or how your sheets feel in the morning, adjusted to your body heat.
Perfect and desirable.

"Sometimes I question whether worrying about when my time is up is worse than just actually ending everything. What am I even worried about? I don't care too much about my life. I don't find it particularly worthwhile... but I think the only thing protecting me from actually jumping is the knowledge that death isn't inherently worthwhile either."
My voice sounded dull compared to hers.
It sounded broken in and faulty, like a scratched record.
Tired and stretched out.

She lets out a softy laugh.
It had a bitter taste to it.
It felt understanding and familiar.
"The only way to tell the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be heard. Not by any other person and not even by yourself at some other point... so I won't assume... but I like... well maybe not like, but hope in a sad way, that everyone thinks about jumping, and makes the choice not to..."
I thought about her saying this more than I'd end up thinking about many things.
Maybe people all have that clueless desperation, that void in their chest they so horribly want to fill.
The type that makes them think... maybe, just for a second... that they might jump.

The moment to reminisce is over.
Where are you?
On the balcony of Marshall's L.A. mansion.
Why am I referring to myself as you?
Whatever.
It's his album release party.
The Eminem Show has finally been released from our creative hands.
Dre, Marshall, all of his friends in their 'band'.
The music video has been released, including behind the scenes videos of us all screwing around on MTV.

Me and Marshall's relationship still feels the way it did when it first started.
Romance takes place in that specific distance between one another.
Where both parties desperately wants to know more about the other while still having that whimsical and dreamy perspective.
The idea that there's some mystery, something moving that keeps you chasing.
Romance is the difference from reality.
When the world weeps and sobs, romance only lets out a calm sigh.
It's where you ask whether you want to know more.
When you realize that there's danger in knowing too much.
The spell will wear off. It won't be romance any more.
If you look to closely, you might know too much. It will ward you off.

We don't have this.
Only infatuation.
Combing though one another like books full of life changing quotes.
Picking at one another's brains like psychologists to their patients.
We're both fighting to know each other more and more.
We're books neither of us can put down.

I look over the vast city of lights, the crystal like quality of the shinning slabs, buildings comprised of buzzing human activity.
I decide to not jump.
Every time I'm high up enough, I make the decision.
I have more than one reason not to.

"Whatcha up to...?" His soft voice enters my head.
His arms come around my waist, lips choosing the usually hobby of peppering my neck, decorating it with his loving physical affections.

"Thinking..."

"Should I be scared?" He chuckles curiously before resting his chin on my shoulder.
Pressing his chest to my back, he hugs me closer.

"When you look over a ledge... do you think about jumping...?" If I'm majorly unlucky, he might tear me away from the balcony and forbid me from going near it ever again.
That would be cute though...

"For a moment... I've always been a little suicidal... But part of me feels like everyone thinks about it for a couple seconds"

Everyone.
Everyone feels much better than just yourself.
I'm starting to wonder about myself as a person.
How different I am.
My experiences are abstract.
But as for different as a person...
We all have those skewed and existential thoughts which we know are treated as inherently bad.
So no one tells anyone else.
Truth is an essentially moldable definition.
It also insists itself upon things.
If something isn't talked about or brought up, it's assumed as a truth that it does not exist or is incredibly rare.
It's a tricky little bastard.

Yet again I'm presented with the reality that people aren't all special or all awful either.
People are who they are.
Often, they understand one another better than they think.
In a distant yet uniquely familiar way.
These people don't concern me.
In the end, they can confide in one another.

Look up at the stars and you're gone.
Some people don't just think about things.