Life is like a hike.
It can long and strenuous and difficult.
Or short, simple and sweet.
Maybe you looked up your route prior and planned it.
Maybe a friend told you to go down there.
Either way your footsteps took you where you wanted.
You may fall down, hit your *** and get right back up.
You may turn the wrong way and get lost.
And you may eventually find your way back to the path.
Or you find a path long forgotten, one many had passed on, but you know you can make it.
Sometimes there are 360 views the whole journey, and sometimes you get to the summit and it’s only fog, rain, and ugly clouds.
There are lots of people on the most popular trails.
Some nice,
Some random,
Some rude leaving trash here and there.
And you can either change it or leave it be.
And on the rugged mysterious trails, you will not find many fellow hikers.

My hike is long, rough, and difficult.
I have gotten lost, found old paths, made my own, and returned to my roots.  
There have been many visitors to my smile and laughter.
Few have been lucky enough to hear my story. But many have changed their course to a happier route alongside mine, somewhere in the distance they are there.

And I know that the summit is gorgeous. 360 views.
And when I fall on my ***, I get back up. Sometimes I may lay there and cry and scream but eventually the dirt becomes uncomfortable.
Eventually I must find a stream to wash in.

My hike is an overnight, backpacking trip. There are several summits. And several ups and downs. And if the way My life ends is on that hike, then at least I was smiling while out of breath and pushing on.

I’m here begging you to stay
To come back
To reach out to me
To get my messages back
So I could see if you did try
But they’re gone
Kik erased them all
Did I reach out a day too late?
When did it actually happen?
With your friend there?
Were you alone?
Where are you now?
I do not believe in a heaven or hell.
I do not recognize a God or Goddess.
I do believe in energy and balance.
But the scales have tipped and fallen over the ledge.
The weight is heavy.
And the carrier becoming weak, fatigued, and done.
How do you tell someone you’re suicidal?
But you actually aren’t.
You tried 3 times in high school.
And failed  
So you took it as a sign to stay. If you messed it up that many times then you can’t leave.
I saved an ex, I saved my sister, and I saved a roomate. I’m not sure how many others.
I lost a boy in my program at school and one I was an orientation leader for. Someone I should have noticed before they left.
Then I became infatuated and lost him. It’s almost been a year. I remember texting a year ago. I remember not being able to wait and see you. I remember promising I’d leave my bf. I remember your lips and touch and your eyes. I remember you say how Soul made you reevaluate your life. And I thought that was for the best. Maybe it was and you just had a moment of weakness. Either way here I am.
Losing anyone at all is a loss
So no matter how many more I save
I’ll still have lost too many

This Christmas I have been alone
All by myself
In a new city
With no one near.
All my friends visiting their own family,
And my own 2000 miles away.
I am proud to have made it through the day, and year.
Even though all day I have missed you.
Wished you were here with me.
Even if I could only message you,
Even if I could only be happy you were with someone else.
Even if I just knew you were still breathing.
Would be better than this.
In my head I wonder if all the ache is worth it.
We did not date.
We were not together long.
And yet the moments we shared live infinitely in my mind,
On replay.
Maybe it is a “trauma bond” as I have googled.
Or maybe it is simply that my soul was comfortable with you.
You understood my depression and suicidal desires at the same time as loving me for being successful.
You did not shame me.
You did not make me try to explain why this and why that.
We basked in the shared understanding.
And maybe I was a fool to believe you.
To believe you would stay.
And maybe it was an accident.
It seems almost all my poems end in this now.
If you can even call them poems.

Let me be clear: it will never be easy.
But it can get better.
But only if you give yourself a chance.
A chance to breathe. To grieve.
To love yourself.
To believe that things can get better.
A chance to believe in yourself.
In the end, it does come down to you
to take the first step.
But once you do, take your time.
You have the rest of your life to follow through.

I felt like writing a letter to myself
One of love and joy
A letter to remind myself of all the things I am worth
To reiterate the fabric of my being
To examine my thoughts
And to accept them for what they are
To hug myself
Inside and out
To look in the mirror and smile
To be okay with the faults in my mind
And to reach out for help to better them

Have you ever seen a suicidal successful blond?
Have you ever thought of all the people on the edge around you?
Those that you have no clue, are in the same boat as you?

And if I were to pass
They’d look.
And they’d find the searches for how to find a therapist
And they’d see the time I tried back at college
And maybe they’d see the decline my spring semester senior year
Maybe they’d see how I was dedicated a few months and then
Falling apart the next 6.
They’d look and they’d find the list in my notes
They’d look and remember in high school how I cried
And tried
And maybe I did throw my notebook away so I didn’t have to remember the pain.
Maybe they’d remember taking my knives.
Maybe they’d speak about the times I asked about being bipolar.
And they would blame themselves.
For the failure of my own heart
And mind.
They’d blame themselves for the poison in my brain.
If I passed I wouldn’t be able to fix the next hike.
I wouldn’t be able to feel the next High.
If I passed then I wouldn’t be able to save you
And that’s what I really want to do