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My childlike frame struggled to stay transfixed as the wind pushed me backwards, the waves roared and rain fell from the heavens. Battered and bruised storm clouds were forming overhead, releasing the occasional strike of lightning which warned me to stay away from the edge. I stood at Fort Point, holding onto the rusty chain that cuts people off from the water, the waves crashed into the concrete and made me shiver somewhat with fear. I saw people, I saw traffic, I saw rain, I saw the ocean, I saw the bridge. In the depths of despair, I inhaled whilst wiping tears away from my eyes; I shuddered and prayed to the Lord to save me from this misery. I want to believe in God but he never seems to show himself around, this is why I have to destroy myself, because it will kill the demon within me. I used to say to the demons: “Do you want me to die? All you’ve got to do is get rid of me.”

I remember one evening, before the Golden Gate Bridge was closed for pedestrians; I met a young woman named Raven-Symoné. She was standing next to light-post 75, leaning on the railing with tears in her eyes. She was holding onto the railing so hard that paint began to flake away, I don’t like this memory but I can’t exactly erase it, to this day it still haunts me. I remember walking closer to her, wondering what she would be like to talk to. I asked her if she was okay, she looked up and wiped the tears from her eyes. She sighed and shook her head; reaching for the cable over the bridge railing. I asked her to hold my hands instead of the cable; she explained to me what was wrong. We stood on the bridge for an hour; she explained to me that her friend had disappeared and she suspected he had killed himself. She stopped talking for five minutes, we both looked over the railing into the death-defying water, she said these distinctive words that will forever throw me off balance: “maybe I deserve to follow in his footsteps”. I was speechless, I craved some words of wisdom, and nothing came to mind. I hugged Raven pathetically because of my lack of appropriate words.
I cradled her for fifteen minutes, before she arranged to be picked up by her agent. I never saw Raven again; I desperately hope she didn’t follow in her friend’s footsteps.

I’ve had a lot of experience with the Golden Gate Bridge and it appears that at least two thousand other people have as well. It is the most popular suicide spot in the world, seeing as the railing is only 4ft high it makes it an ideal place to find a solution to all of life’s problems, in another dimension altogether.
The second most popular suicide spot in the world is the ‘Sea Of Trees’ in Japan. Individuals trek to the forest intentionally to take their lives, they abandon their cars and leave their wallets or credit cards in the forest (same with the Golden Gate) – along with the paranormal activity; it is the scariest place in the world. When a person jumps to their death, it is a way of learning how to find their wings as they fall. To me, jumping is ripping the wings of a lifeless butterfly and watching it gracefully freefall to earth, or asphyxiating in the freezing water. Even though the speed of the fall and the nauseating crack as the unresponsive body hits the floor tends to unsettle people, there really is no point in trying to make suicide seem like such a beautiful work of art. Just give up.

I took another trip to the Golden Gate just two weeks ago, during the height of my depression; I took to the landmark and stood on the bottom of the railing, holding onto a cable at light-post 36.
I wasn’t in the right state of mind to converse with anybody; all I wanted was to be left to fantasise about my own demise, or on a more constructive side - a life that doesn’t so closely resemble hell.
A few people asked how I was or watched me cautiously as they passed, I wasn’t going to jump on that day; I just wanted to know what it was like to be in the position of those suicidal people. The night before I had been at a party with my best friends, usually I prepare myself for any trauma or unfortunate incidents. I never thought I’d have to prepare myself for a metal breakdown; the last thing I remember is having a small group of girls and boys telling me that they admired my work. I don’t remember much about this night, but I do recollect running towards the front door right after they had spoken to me, I didn’t stop running until I reached Crissy Fields, very close to my future exit venue.
That same day, I made my way to the bridge when it opened; I spent a couple of hours sitting on the floor and staring at the exact same spot at the North Tower – no one looked down at me. After another forty-five minutes, three men all in their twenties or early thirties stopped and become aware of me sitting on the floor, tears streaming down my porcelain cheeks and whispering words of sorrow to myself. I feared them all because I didn’t want to be disturbed and all day nobody had noticed me, I thought that I was in trouble. I was spellbound; I had spent the time I had been on the bridge doing nothing but staring at the floor.
I looked up at the purity of the morning sky and took a deep breath; the men I had yet to notice were talking to each other, they were looking at me. I stood up and slowly reached for the cable so I could climb over, I didn’t want to jump, I knew this wasn’t for attention and I knew I wanted to live to sort my life out at the time. What I didn’t understand was why I was still climbing over the railing.
The men had decided to bring themselves to my attention, and so one of them stepped forwards and cautiously put his hand on my arm. He said: “Don’t do it.” He actually scared me – he looked like a gangster. I looked at him and then back down at the icy water, I hadn’t noticed how far down the fall was. What I was doing had just struck me. I was being pathetic; I wasn’t even there to jump. I looked into his eyes and he smiled. He said: “Sometimes all that people need to stop them from doing something like this is a smile.” It’s the little things that make the big difference, even in a big situation. I took his hand; he pulled me away from the railing and put his arm around me. I told him I wasn’t contemplating jumping and he said I would be wise to stay away from the bridge if I can. But it seems to entice me more and more. The men took me aside and gave me words of understanding and advice that I so desperately needed when I was helping Raven. They told me that at first they were too anxious to approach me or try to stop me because they were frozen with fear, it doesn’t seem realistic. You hear about these ill-fated incidents but you are never really prepared for the actual event, it seems so dreamlike.
I hardly spoke but I felt as if they knew what I was thinking anyway, I understand people like myself – that is how I “helped” Raven. We were all living in a broken world – we watch each other break every day, we all suffer the same discomforts and there are those who get everything they want. The failed actress that leapt to her death from the H of the Hollywood sign must have felt everything I feel. The broken are the ones that get knocked down; we get back up and stand above the crowd. But some don’t get back up.

I can’t believe how many people have jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge, it’s surreal. It almost makes me feel ill. I wasn’t there to save their lives, neither were many other people. The ones that were there are guardian angels, the ones that should be rewarded. Tragedy has struck the hearts of many in San Francisco – one unfortunate incident included a man killing his wife at their home and then taking to the bridge with his four year old daughter, he threw her over the side and then jumped after her.
Even the elderly have been ones to freefall from the Golden Gate Bridge; a woman jumped and then shot herself so she couldn’t feel the impact. I want to jump to relieve myself of the emotional trauma I suffer every day, I want to be able to fly one time. Even though I will be dead when I get to the water, I am extremely wary of the Great White Sharks and crabs that lurk underwater and by the bay, underneath the bridge sometimes. They eat away at your decaying body after your death.

A Final Contemplation.

I made my way across the Golden Gate Bridge, for what I was hoping would be the last time. It was a cold yet clear Saturday morning in San Francisco. The time on my watch read 9.00A.M, I had a few hours to spend on the bridge thinking. The wind was strong and sent shivers down my spine, I knew everything I despised about the winter would soon be lost, and so I ignored the freezing cold weather and stroked my arms violently.
I didn’t look back as I strolled down the near-empty bridge, I only looked forwards and out to sea. A cyclist passed me at Light Post 75, I stopped at this point. Looking further into the idea I had in my mind.

I can’t believe this is what I want; I cannot believe I want to go this way and now. I have no money to live on anymore and no one to turn to for help. Maybe if I wasn’t sure if I wanted to die or not, in the back of my mind – an unsuspecting way – I set myself up to die anyway, a person cannot simply survive on nothing and rely on themselves.
I’ve always thought about death the same way – I don’t want to die by someone else’s hand. I want to control it. Many people criticised my view of the world, apparently I’m all fucked up inside. The bridge is always at the back of my mind, maybe I’m depressed.
I desperately want to go to a place where nothing hurts and no one knows. Imitating those that do so well and pretend like nothing is wrong is so difficult; I can’t even lie my way through life. I know how it feels to want to die every single day, how you try to fit in but it’s impossible, how you think nobody likes you and it’s true, how it hurts to smile. Now I just want this shit to end.

I called my mother one last time, at 9.15.AM. She was confused as to why I was calling her and started to ask a lot of questions. “I love you, thank you and see you on the other side.” I called my father after that, and said the same thing to him. I called my younger sister and then my close cousin. I called my grandma and then my best friends. I put the phone down and a lot of people started to call me and send me messages. I got so frustrated that I answered one call from my best friend and threw my phone over the side of the bridge. He might realise that my mobile crashing into water means I’ve jumped. The life I think about is so much better than this. But I don’t want to make it better; I just don’t want to exert my energy into something that may not work. I don’t have any self confidence so it won’t work. I don’t have the job I craved; I’m almost scared to grow up.

How can I be sure that this will kill me? I want it to, that is basically the point in jumping from the bridge. If you jump to die, then what is the point in saying “jumping from this bridge can result in death”? I don’t want any words of encouragement this time. I know what it is that I want to do. I am going to jump to my death from the Golden Gate Bridge. Don’t you try and fucking stop me, this is where I am mentally and physically whether you like it or not. There’s more than one reason I want to die: the future, the past and the present.
I looked around first; I once again resumed my position from when I met the three men. I stood on the bottom of the railing and held onto the cable. I breathed in heavily; the wind was so strong it almost took my breath away. I could see the old Alcatraz Prison from this point; I could see the Bay Bridge, I could see the Farallon Islands in the distance that the Great White Sharks inhabit, also – I could see a crisis counselling telephone box next to the light-post I was closest to, I remembered how I feel about the sharks and crabs underneath the bridge, so I nervously picked up the phone and heard a voice at the other end. The person was trying to get me to speak, no words came to mind. I started to cry, people stopped and watched me with distressed expressions on their faces as I broke down, I collapsed against the railing whilst still clutching the crisis telephone. I could see people were dying to help me, a young girl with her mother stared at me, she looked absolutely petrified – she was so scared that she began to cry herself and her mother put her hand over her eyes. The anxiety was so overwhelming, in the distance I could see two people I vaguely recognised heading towards me, with a quickened pace. A boy and a girl, they were my two friends. I was stunned – how did they know to find me out here?
I quickly said what I had to say to the person on the other end of the Crisis Telephone. “Call the coast guard; I’m going to jump.” I put the phone down and held onto the railing and cable again, my friends were getting closer and the people had started either walk or gossip between each other. My best friends had reached me before I could jump, it was too late. No – NOTHING can stop me now. “I’m not saying this again. Underneath this bridge is the best place for me to be.” My words were empty.
I held onto the cable and pulled myself on to the top of the railing with all my strength, my hands and legs trembled, I felt dizzy and the butterflies in my stomach were getting worse, it was hard to keep my grip on the cable because I was so nervous, the wind nearly blew me backwards towards the crowd, as if God was trying to push me back. “I want to control this.”
Everybody screamed, my friends cried and ran towards me to get me back safe, they missed their chance. A siren was wailing behind me, the police were shouting out to stop me. “Come back! Don’t jump!” I lifted myself over the railing and stood on the ledge, I was careful not to make this look like an accident and fall due to the strong winds. The fog in San Francisco can get so thick and strong that the bridge can become icy, I could see the fog thickening in the distance, I wanted to go before I lose sight of everything. I had never felt so unsafe in my life. I felt that if I make one move too strong that I will instantly fall. But that’s what I want, isn’t it? No, I want to JUMP and fly. I turned and smiled at my friends for the last time. “I’m going.”
“Would she come back over if we persuaded her? Shall we try?” “This happens all the time. It’s such a shame, she’s ever so young.”
I don’t understand why these people would want to save my life, they are all infatuated with a perfect life and the routine that they all follow; they can’t see it’s drowning them – the savages. They want to stop and hide those of us that don’t feel that way as if we’re an embarrassment! All the glittering motherfuckers that appreciate life say that it’s beautiful because that’s what they want to see and that’s what they want you to hear from them, which makes life a big lie – of course it’s not beautiful, it’s a wicked game to play. I know I’m cynical; all I want is for somebody to tell me that I’m right.

The coast guard was sailing towards the bridge in the distance, the sky was very clear above me and the fog was covering most of the horizon, I could hardly make the Bay Bridge out in the distance anymore. I sat down on the ledge and kept a grip on each side. I looked back and saw everybody reaching their hands out, begging me to come back over the railing. I was too scared to stand up, let alone climb. I’d never felt guilt so strong, I gathered the courage to stand so I could finish this.
Now that I know what I’m without, I know I have to die. I took a deep breath as if I was going to meet the water straight away, like when I was a child and my father used to take me swimming, he held me under purposely to teach me a lesson, I taught myself to hold my breath for a long time. I felt as if I was being watched from under the bridge, a benevolent force was overcoming me and I saw myself as a doll swaying in the wind, back and forth. The child who owns me is ready to throw me away and I would be lost forever. I’ve been called worthless and a terrible burden – which is exactly why I have no identity anymore. Most won’t know who I am when they see me jump.

This is it, this is finally the end – dressed in bows and a babydoll dress with dolly shoes to relive my childhood one last time, I want to be innocent like I was as a child when I’m gone. I’ll meet my maker and everything will be as it was before I was born.
One foot met the air, the other left the ledge and I was already freefalling. It’s happening so fast. I was so desperate to scream but I was so frightened that I instantly lost my voice, the fear inside my body was overcoming me, I almost passed out. My arms couldn’t keep still; I didn’t feel as graceful as an angel. The wind felt as if it was slashing away at my hair and my skin, there really was no point in making this seem like a work of art. I heard them all screaming back above me, I couldn’t find my wings. I closed my eyes for the one last time; I found my voice and let out a disheartening scream. The first part of me to hit the icy water was my back, then the rest of my body joined and I fell apart, in a deep and profound way – I was still aware what was going on. The extremity of the pressure absolutely tore me apart and broke me down, slitting me open at every possible chance, inhaling salt water – my fragile body asphyxiated.

75mph.
4 seconds.
Freefalling, Crashing, Breaking, Asphyxiation.
Tore apart at the seams.
My seventeen year old body, broken.

High buildings, bridges, mountains and water are double crossing – if they don’t take your life like you ask, they betray you and paralyze you everlastingly.

But I was fortunate because I had been granted my unpleasant wish. As the water claimed my life, I felt sweet liberation and knew this was the end. The pain was like nothing I could recognise – nothing like I could have ever have imagined. Driving off a cliff in a car and then crashing into a pile of bricks at 75mph to put it bluntly. When I was younger I was terrified of intravenous injections, well freefalling from 64ft was similar to having 50,000 of them all at once in every fraction of your body. Scars on my wrists, burns on my body and the feeling of an overdose really had nothing on the impact of the fall.

I was dragged out of the water by the coast guard, all of my dignity lost to the Pacific Ocean. I didn’t drown, I wasn’t lost to the animals of the deep or the roaring waves, I was rescued before my purity was destroyed completely just like I requested. I was taken to Fort Point, to the building where they take the suicide jumpers’ corpses. When people are found dead in the Sea of Trees in Japan, they are taken to the doctor’s office where the body is laid out on a bed; a member of staff is chosen to sleep next to the body so that the spirit can live in the forest forever and scream their sorrow. That’s true, I wouldn’t lie to you.
I had a nice funeral; they dressed me up in something I used to wear as a child, because my favourite dress was worn to die in. Well I said the funeral was nice, but everyone was as sad as me. I remember my best friends telling everybody about what I did that day. Why on earth did they talk about that to my family? I’m one to talk, after this nightmare – it goes to show that I love to create a scene; my last breath was a heartbreaking one.
I guess you can say now – I really have fallen from grace. We’re not innocent anymore.