Solid, violent in its stubborn refusal to budge any further, the wall is cool against my forehead as I rest for these moments. I know each will cost me later, as I watch those next to me carrying on with such ease, I just can't do it anymore.
The past months and weeks I have slammed myself against it, for each scar, tear, each drop of blood, sweat and anxiety has chiselled away another piece.
I have fallen to doubt, illness, exhaustion. Sometimes others have helped me up, but most of these falls are unseen, and all down to me.
The wall is left, now, with nine giant stones, all but two of the smaller pieces are gone. I know that the foundation stones are designed to be chiselled away in pieces, but I don't know how to approach them and no-one can tell me.
So I stand here, hands and forehead leaning on it, wishing to to just fall and be over, but I know it will take much more than this.
I know I am close, I can see the light through the cracks that I paid for with little pieces of myself. I have become currency, only a sum of energy, time, will and words. Parts of my life, heart, mind, soul, have been traded for these things and as I stare at what remains to be conquered, I don't know that I've got that much left.
Like a child or a desperate man pulling their empty pockets inside out I pick and pull at myself. Nope, not that much left...
I know that I need to reach deeper and find something to trade, to burn and consume in a last desperate push at this wall. Nine desperate pushes, which maybe I can afford, but not with any left spare...
No more backup, no more buffer,
and always, the two questions hovering over me...
What if I genuinely can't pick myself up again?