Mountain Dweller


Here to bring light to the issues that people sweep under rugs to bring healing to those who can't find their own words for their experiences and to promote change through individuality. 

A Year Ago

Woke this morning to the memories, woke last night to the nightmares.

A year ago, this time frame, I had thrown myself into fourth gear and was racing downhill fast. My anxiety had come full out of its shell but I was still in a world of misunderstood emotions and reactions to know that my genetic biology was taking over.

The memories....

the screaming matches with ex-roommates about their slop of a lifestyle, the nights I spent running to my car and driving as fast as I could to anywhere but there, calling anyone who would pick up and hysterically sobbing; "get out, you need to get out" I know but I can't. The memory of waking up strapped to a gurney, of having just woke up from what felt like days of sleep mentally but that a train had hit me physically.

I was drowning a year ago. My mother was frantically looking for plane tickets to send me back east to family while I came out of yet another therapy appointment; I couldn't grab ahold of my life. When I did spend time back east my mind was still wandering and bruised, I was searching for help but yearning to go home to a home I no longer had for myself.

I remember sitting in a hotel room in Washington State while my mother ran errands on her short stint in the united states to pick up her useless daughter, me, and I laid, crying and trying to hold onto myself as tight as I possibly could-I wanted a fix, I wanted to be fixed but I couldn't take the pills they had prescribed me.  A tug of war that landed me tied up in the rope instead.

Sometimes I am at a loss for whether or not I helped myself in healing by learning and giving into the power of forgiveness; with my usual habit of dropping people and running, I chose to stay and endure and with me being a year out, I sometimes think if I would have been further in my healing if I had pushed on and left the past in the past.

I write to remember, more than anything. I choose to remember because I want to learn.

McKenzie Roers