I kept expecting to hit rock bottom. Or die. J.K. Rowling promised me one, in that famous commencement speech she gave. I would find a rock bottom, a place where I could start building some scaffolding and crawl my way out. And I thought that I found that, a few different times. But each time I started building, the ground gave way.

For me, it’s never been about choice: it’s been about circumstances. When you don’t have a living wage, when you don’t have a reliable way of making a living wage, when you become a drain on others, when you as a person simply have nothing to offer that the world wants.

If I had looks, maybe I could get out on that. Or money. Or some great skill. But mental illness, poverty, and writing skill in a world that’s hypersaturated with writers all trying to care out their own niche.

But at least I’ve learned to free-fall as gracefully as possible. . .

“Why, you chivalric fool — as if the way one fell down mattered.”
“When the fall is all there is, it matters.”