It's hard for me to believe that I've ever wanted to go to the mountains this badly before in my life. I'm exhausted by the same persistent, empty city where I dwell. All I wish to do is walk outside my door into fresh air and open space, to go out and climb something, be able to get to the top and look down at all of the life down there that I don't have to be a part of. Here in the suburbs, when I have a bad day, there's no remedying it with a trip outside of the house. The air is thick and suffocating, and it weighs heavy in my chest along with all the struggle I've fought this day. I told myself I'd never put myself in a position to feel so lonely again. It's easy to feel this way when you try to look into a chapter of a book that might not be yours. Best guess is, I've underestimated my ability to trust once again.