"What's your outlook on life?" she asked.
Tomorrow is not going to be better than today.
“You’re angry” was her reply.
And she's correct.
I write to make meaning out of things.
Truth always comes screaming out.
I am on the living side of a death dodging season and all I want to do is scream.
Scream until the very act of screaming hurts.
I’ve spent the last 5 ½ months working to find peace in a violent time.
I’ve kept it together, but a cathartic release is now at hand.
I scream it high upon the mountain.
I scream it low in the darkest timber.
I scream it when I’m alone.
It screams inside of me when I’m with others.
I try to scream it all out.
But there’s an endless supply of scream in me
and I know I’m addicted to the screaming.
I am climbing and skiing strong.
This season’s training has undoubtedly paid off.
But it’s made me too comfortable.
I need to climb higher, suffer longer and retreat to the miserable pain that makes me so happy.
I can’t shake this self-destructive adventure.
I’m pretty sure I don’t want to.
I dislike the quiet and relish the scream.
I’m pretty sure Alaska will not be enough
It’s always easier to sabotage the journey rather than end it.