After driving through rolling green hills with tears streaming down my face I found myself at the foot of a familiar mountain. This was my happy place, yet I’m here and haven’t felt worse. As I began my ascent, I thought about all the decisions that had led me here. My lungs burned and my body felt weak from years of drug abuse. The people around me couldn’t stand to see me like this and neither could I. I ran away to my happy place in hopes of saving myself, and, with every brutal step, I felt further and further from that goal. As I approached the top, the sun had begun to set and silence was deafening. I had never felt more alone as my deep long breaths turned into shallow shaky ones. As I looked over the valley, I began to cry. No longer out of sadness but out of fear of what I had come here to do. A gentle wind chime broke the silence. My mother was calling me. I cried again, stumbling through my words as I tried to explain to her my mental state. All I could taste was the salty tears in my mouth as I told her I was scared and that the people I cared about most didn’t want me around anymore. The fear in her voice burned as she pleaded with me to come home. I drove home in silence, the only thing that brought me solace.
The Bolt Magazine 