[ WP ] 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... As the world ends , your life flashes before your eyes . Yet , it is n't the life you remember living .

Forewarning: this came to be a rather dark interpretation of the prompt. It is perhaps something that only makes sense to me, but still, I'll post it. It is, in a way, a summary of how I've felt about my past as I recover from depression, and how much this disorder can change the way you percieve your own memories. Or, maybe it's just a piece of writing. 
 
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 Falling. There is really no way to describe those few moments after the jump. It should only have taken a second to reach the bottom, and yet it felt to me like full minutes, hours even, may have passed. The instant I jumped, I was filled with relief. The decision had been made. I was no longer at war with myself, no longer struggling to keep myself tethered to the world. 
 
 As I fell, in true cliqued style, my life flashed before my eyes. Half-remembered memories of early childhood suddenly flooded my mind. My parents, proudly waving as I happily bounced by on a pony at the beach. My brother, clasping my hand and laughing hysterically as he tried to teach me how to skate, my tiny legs flailing madly just to stay upright. Early family holidays, childhood friends, elaborate games whose rules made sense only to myself and my brother. Memories of innocence, too early to be tainted by sadness. 
 
 I watched myself grow, learn, play, laugh my way through childhood. Then memories of adolescence, those confusing, messy teenage years, began to resurface. My first love, my first kiss, and, soon after, my first heartbreak. Countless evenings with friends, wandering the town carefree and with no aim. The petty family arguments, characterised by an angry silence followed by a half-hearted apology on my part and complete forgiveness on that of my parents. Memories of a carefree time, a time of irresponsibility and unhindered fun. 
 
 Then, my adult life came into the spotlight, short as it was. Those moments of excitement as my life changed; as I moved out, graduated, fell in love, married. Memories of happiness, excitement, worry, achievements and failures, old friendships lost and new ones made. 
 
 This is not the life I remember. These are the memories of a life well lived, and yet still I ’ m here, falling. Surely this man, whose life just played out in an instant, could not be the one who took such drastic action as to jump? How could my thoughts, my memories, have been skewed so much by my own mind? This has not been the life of someone with nothing to live for – and still, I fall. 

