Under foot, a frozen, paper thin layer of ice covers unwelcoming waters with no edges, beginnings or ends. Under foot, darkness stretches as far as the eye dare 
wonder with no kindness or warmth in its colours. Under foot, the uncertainity of safety and security lies thick, much much thicker than the ice. 

Trapped on the very middle of winter's brutal reality, I stand stuck. No where to run, no where to walk, no room for mistakes. Here I am alone, no room for anything but 
fear, concentration and ongoing possible scenarios. To escape this ice would need a miracle - without it breaking and becoming submerged in frozen seas. There is no 
understanding of how I got here, I simply woke up standing in the middle of this living hell and have spent every day since asking why. 

To move would mean the ice could crack, weight shifting from one spot to another is 
highly dangerous, for example what happens if the ice in that particular spot is even thinner than the spot I'm already on? But to stay. To stay would mean to be stagnant, the ice 
will eventually wear thin and the inevitable will happen. 

Time, days, week pass and still I'm stood here. The tip of my nose has turned hard and grey, my lips blue and cold. My mind does not venture past all the ways my 
survival could be destroyed. My mind reaches out for the memory of better days. 

Every hour of each day is spent thinking about the ice shattering, my body ploughing into those waters and the 
hole once again sealing above my head once I'm down there. Drowning, fighting for air I could no longer breathe. To be dragged down into the lonliest, darkest parts of 
the ocean with nothing but your own mistakes, thoughts and self hate to accompany you. Anything to keep my head above this water. 

All this time I have spent thinking about why I ended up on this ice, why the lush green grass that once huged my toes, so perfect and comforting, so secure and 
bright has now gone. The fear of drowning is crippling, knowing I could drown so easily. Any second, any minute, tomorrow or next week. To wake up to ice every morning 
and to question what I did wrong to deserve it. 

To walk away, to find sure footing would take risk, confidence, trust. 
One way or another, I am stuck. To stare below me, is to feed my hungry thoughts with the what ifs of my future. To stare infront of me, to feed my thoughts with hope, 
but at what risk? To start walking and never find sure footing again, to walk and fall regardless? To walk and never find a way out. 
What if, it is of course a dangerous game. 

To stay though, to stay would mean not trying and surely giving up is a fate worse than drowning. To walk with fear trempling through every bone in my body will 
surely mean I fall too. The weight of fear is much heavier than any body would possible weigh. The weight of fear seems to never ease, only shift it's grip. 

To walk ahead, to take all risk and all uncertainity and walk for the hope of that lush grass once again, to let go the fear that plagues my mind. To start walking 
may mean cracks in the ice on the way forward, but forward regardless of the promise of lush grass is better than waiting to fall and fearing it while I wait.