I was on top of the mountain.
My feet weren't stable any longer.
The climb was long and painful
And was far from rewarding when I reached the top,
And saw there was nothing there.

My heart felt heavy and my head was spinning.
No oxygen was getting up to my head at the peak.
I needed to get down.
I needed to get to safety.
I needed to step back.
People are there to catch me, but I was afraid.
Falling was never the problem.
The weightless feeling always brought me peace.
It was if I ever hit the ground, was what truly worried me.

Falling never hurt, but landing did.

I will randomly get whiffs of scents
that remind me of moments spent with you.

The smell of the lake in the city at your dads that first summer.
That scent that stuck to our clothing from burning cedar in the barn we called home.
A whiff of cologne that you would wear only because I loved it so.

I hope I never have to smell those again.
Painful nostalgia.

I don't know how much longer I can take this.
I'm trying to stay strong.
If no one understands,
then how do I continue.
I can't keep fighting myself.
It's dangerous.
I'm closer and closer to picking up that blade...
just so I can feel something other than this.
I can't take this anxiety,
and this feeling that no one feels but me.
I don't know how much longer I can take this.