White Text - 12

whitetext was a private livejournal account I kept following a breakup in 2004. The entries came from a deep depression. They have been recollected here for data preservation.

today was my birthday. twenty-six years old. i’m reminded of those years during my teens when i was either away at summer camp, on a trip somewhere, or later, in boot camp; those were the years i somehow missed my birthday. it passed by and there was no change. for me birthdays are a time to take stock of the world around me, to remind myself of the passage of time and my growth through it. i sit on my floor, look out at the midnight bright sky, and i remember those places i have been on my previous birthdays.

i was standing on an bridge rusted to look like coral. i watched the creek jump across the rocks a few feet below and feeling the fear of warning. it was only a week ago that we’d left for the hike. a week of ups and downs, rain and pain, that seemed to stretch will-power if not sanity. i wasn’t ready for it, yet. i was unprepared and recently warned. she told me to be careful, that she felt something might happen. and so i stared at the water, careful when crossing each way, careful not to slip on the grates, not to fall over the railingless edge, onto the smooth bare rocks below. i tested the weight of my pack, centered my gravity, and marched slowly. a day later one friend had a broken leg and another hypothermia. perhaps it was a birthday present.

the days are long here. birthdays are even longer.