schizophrenic boy believes he can fly NEARLY looses his life

The Boy Who Thought He Could Fly

Jacob was different from the other boys in his neighborhood. While they spent their days playing soccer or riding bikes, Jacob was often alone, staring up at the sky. He wasn’t lonely, though. Far from it. In his mind, he was destined for something greater. He believed he could fly.

It wasn’t just a passing childhood fantasy. Jacob was absolutely convinced. At first, it was subtle—a dream here, a fleeting thought there. But soon, his belief grew stronger, more real, and harder for him to ignore. The sensation of weightlessness in his limbs, the invisible wings he could almost feel sprouting from his shoulders, filled him with excitement. He knew, deep down, that he was special.

When he told his friends about his ability, they laughed. “Yeah, right!” they said, pushing him playfully. But Jacob wasn’t joking. He insisted that he just hadn’t tried hard enough yet. His friends brushed him off, and soon, they stopped hanging out with him. It didn’t bother Jacob much; he was on a different path, after all. He was destined to soar.

At home, things weren’t much better. His parents noticed something was wrong. He would sit for hours on the porch, staring at the clouds, mumbling about how he could hear the wind calling him, inviting him to join it. His mother, worried, approached him one afternoon.

"Jacob, honey, what are you doing out here all alone?"

"I’m practicing," he said, eyes fixed on the sky. "I’m going to fly soon, Mom. I can feel it. I just need to figure out how."

She smiled, trying to hide her concern. "Fly? You know that’s not possible, sweetie."

Jacob frowned. "You don’t believe me, do you? No one does. But I know. I *know* I can."

His mother didn’t press further that day, but the concern in her eyes deepened. She and Jacob’s father agreed that something was off, but they couldn’t put their finger on what exactly. They chalked it up to an overactive imagination, a phase that would pass like so many childhood fancies.

But it didn’t pass.

At school, Jacob’s teachers grew concerned. He would interrupt class to talk about his "ability" and how he didn’t need to study like everyone else because he was destined for bigger things. Soon, he started isolating himself, retreating to the rooftop during lunch breaks, arms stretched wide as if preparing to take flight.

Rumors spread. Kids began to call him "Crazy Jacob," whispering about him as he walked by. But Jacob didn’t care. He was on the brink of something magnificent—he could feel it.

One night, after his parents had gone to bed, Jacob snuck out of the house. He’d had enough of waiting. The dreams were becoming more vivid, the voices louder, urging him to take the leap. He had practiced enough in his mind. He knew what he needed to do.

Jacob walked to the nearby hill, the highest point in town, with a strange sense of peace. The moonlit sky stretched out before him, an endless expanse waiting for him to join it. He climbed to the top, his heart racing, but not from fear—he was excited.

Standing at the edge, he closed his eyes, spreading his arms wide. The cool breeze brushed against his skin, and in that moment, he was sure he could feel the wind lifting him, carrying him. He was ready.

But just as he was about to jump, a voice pierced through the silence.

"Jacob!" It was his father, running up the hill, breathless. "What are you doing up here? Come down!"

Jacob blinked, confused. He hadn’t heard his father approach. "I’m going to fly, Dad. Don’t you see? I’ve been practicing for this. I’m ready."

His father’s face was pale. "Jacob, you can’t fly. Please, come down from there. Let’s talk."

Jacob shook his head, feeling the pull of the sky calling him. "You don’t understand. No one does. I can do it. I can—"

Before he could finish, his father grabbed him, pulling him away from the edge. Jacob struggled at first, but his father held him tightly, refusing to let go.

"We need to get you help, Jacob," his father whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. "You’re not well. This isn’t real."

For the first time, Jacob felt doubt creep in. The invisible wings he had felt so strongly just moments before seemed to dissolve. The wind, once so inviting, now felt cold and distant. His father’s grip was firm, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in months.

The next few weeks were a blur for Jacob. He saw doctors, sat through long conversations with people who asked strange questions. Eventually, the diagnosis came: schizophrenia. The doctors explained that the voices and visions he had experienced were symptoms of his illness, not reality.

Jacob struggled to accept it. How could something that felt so real, so powerful, be nothing but a trick of his mind? But as the months went by, and with the help of medication and therapy, the hallucinations began to fade. The desire to fly no longer consumed him.

Still, there was a part of Jacob that would always wonder—what if? What if he really had been able to fly, and the world had just been too blind to see it?

But for now, Jacob was content to keep his feet on the ground.