It's Not Desiring the Fall
You awake one day with a sense of dread, at first pinned on the common annoyances of work, unaware of the descent you'll experience over the next few months; the sleepless nights, the lack of joy, the inability to communicate your feelings to the seemingly happy and content figures that surround you, a rift develops between your former and present self.
Hobbies no longer satisfy your desire for weekend escapism. Your loved ones known your peculiar behaviors but unlike missing an arm, the symptoms aren't noticeable enough to warrant a concern and of course you wouldn't want to bring them down talking about it. It only makes it real. Every now and then, you feel elated, overjoyed with life and almost godlike. Your mania further drives away and confuses the only ones willing to listen.
In Twilight moments of self-reflection, you see the totality of anguish. Your x-ray vision of despair lasers through the impermanence of it all. The insistent misery of beed. Your only sense of comfort of stability is your acknowledgement that there truly is nothing to be hopeful for.
David Foster Wallace mentioned, like in the situation of those seriously depressed to the scenario of jumping out of a burning building. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows, their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking the view. The fear of falling remains a constant, the variable here is the other terror the fires flames when the flames get close enough. Falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors.
It's not desiring the fall, its terror of the flames.