Mornings and mountains.

I write this long thing last night that I was gonna dress up and post today, but I scrapped it all.

Editing never happened. And won’t. Last night was a different head space.

Every night is. But there are strong common themes running through my nights... at best, I am hopeful. I see possibility in my dreams.

At worst, it’s a movie reel of disgust and despair. Mornings are worse.

Facing the days after sleeping but not usually getting a full recharge is a doozy.

Every day feels like a mountain to climb. The same mountain. And when I get to the top, when I’ve made it through another day, I look down and can’t decide if I want to admire the view while it lasts and be and be glad I made it, or jump because I’ll have to do it all over again.

I’m tired. Real outer struggle has hit my family now. So real i can reach out and touch it. Unfortunately, I can’t smash it to pieces. I’m not poisoning myself. The big scary things are out of my control. Fuck toxic positivity. Some things hurt.

But I can choose to survive, even if that means resting on the trail. Just don’t jump off the cliffs.