There's a mountain. It's a big old thing. I've been climbing it for a while - four years in fact. I'm almost to the top now. I made it there once, but tripped and fell. I didn't fall too far, and here I am, almost there again. I just have to take one step at a time. Move forward. Sometimes I can't get my feet to move. Sometimes I fall a step or two.
When I was little there was a storm. I was only ten at the time. It had built up since I was eight or so. Dark gray clouds, but they eventually started pouring. I stood out in it, felt myself soaked to the skin. I thought the sun was still shining, I got so wet. And anyway I loved the rain; I danced in it and laughed and really enjoyed myself. It just brought a little sadness, with it being so gray and all. Still, though, it was mostly fun.
At twelve, I walked into the halls of my middle school. There was a monsoon. It crashed against me, tossed me about; the rain had gone on for far too long. I was drowning.
The monsoon ended after a year, but then the earthquakes started. They shook my world. And, eventually, produced a mountain.
This is the mountain I have been climbing. I am armed with only my backpack and the occasionally stopping points on my way. Behind me I can see the people on the ground cheering; you can't see them when you're close to the bottom.
Now I'm almost at the top. I stepped up there for a day and I realized I was beautiful.
I see the world and see how wonderful it all is. It's an amazing place. I mean, look at that sun over there. I couldn't see it from the ground.
The last little hill, this last little bump, is all about the most difficult task. I've forgiven others, seen that people care for me, and struggled past all the people telling me lies. I know where to go now.
All I need to do is remember how to love myself again, and with this mountain below me... I know I can do it. And that is a really powerful feeling.