The Man on the Mountain

TW// descriptions of “unaliving” one’s self. (Saying the S word can potentially affect the distribution of my posts. It is unfortunate that a topic that is so important to address and talk about is censored. Please know I am not personally censoring the word, my hands are tied.)

2018 was the worst year of my life. I say that with full unwavering confidence. I've had some awful things happen to me throughout the years, but it all came to a head that year.

It's actually ironic because I had some great things happen to me in the early months of that year. I took one of my most notable photos that got worldwide acclaim, I genuinely made a couple of cool friends, and I was relatively stable mentally. Then the decent into July began

Let's address the elephant that is July, because she's morbidly obese.

I was strung-out and spellbound on every mistake I had ever made. My religious upbringing and untreated, crippling anxiety were clashing like swords in fierce battle. I was stuck in an endless waltz with Jesus and mania. One moment I was clawing at the carpet sobbing and begging for forgiveness, and the next, propped up against the wall, frozen and disassociated; believing it was too late for me. I had put on weight, I never left my room, and I put the last of my strength into making my death as convenient as possible.

I made sure all of my belongings were neatly packed. My room was spotless. I had written all my letters, and instructions to tell online friends I had died. Then I took about 50 prescription sleeping pills and laid down. I don't remember much. But I was suddenly on the floor throwing up pills and foam and heaving for what felt like hours. No one even noticed I tried to die. No hospital, no emergency. My body simply said "no".

With a sore diaphragm, clothes drenched in cold sweat, and my entire stomach contents around me, I fell asleep on the floor for the first time in 36 hours. I awoke 11 hours later.

It's hard to explain the feeling of failing to die. You can't help but feel a little grateful. But I found that I was experiencing a feeling of loss. I missed the cryptic courage I had to go through with it. Bravery is probably not the best way to describe it, But I had never been able to commit to something that huge before. A morbid victory.

I was quicky flung back into reality. The semester ended a week later, and I flew back home to Colorado. Talk about mental whiplash.

Without even a moment of recovery, I was told I needed to find a job within a week of being home. This was no surprise. If I didn't have a job, I wasn't allowed to rest without being made to feel guilty. No one was aware I had tried to end my life merely days before, and I wasn't about to tell anyone, so I had to slap myself out of it and dig my heels out of the mud.

I ended up getting a job pretty quickly. I was working at a dog hotel as a kennel technician.

This was the one of the worst jobs I ever had, and there is so many reasons why. But the worst of it was from management bullies, stuck up employees, and the overwhelming environment that is working with dogs. I was miserable, overwhelmed, and out of breath.

I quickly began to see a doctor in an attempt to get on medication again, something that may actually help me. She was the first to know of my attempt and what lead me there. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and put on a new medication. One much different form the run of the mill anti-depressants that had been thrown at me for years. Since I used prescribed medication to attempt an overdose, I was put on a drug version of the "No-Fly" list. It still affects me to this day. I'm ineligible for life insurance policies and probably always will be.

So, in summary, I tried to end my life, failed, flew back home a week later, got a soul-sucking job 4 days after getting home, and started a new medication regimen the same week I started said job. Then July ended.

I have now laid out the important lore needed to understand my relationship with the man on the mountain.

I worked outside 80% of the day. Sitting in yards full of dogs, my only job was to make sure poop was scooped, and no pup got into trouble. If it was a quiet day, it was easy to sit and get lost in my surroundings. We weren't allowed to have our phones or listen to music. But I have the super-human ability to entertain myself for hours without looking at my phone or interacting with another person. I was lucky to be surrounded by a beautiful hogback, one of the many gateways into the Rocky's. It kept my brain busy.

I was able to find this video, panning across the hogback.

I loved to scan those mountains in hopes of maybe seeing some wildlife, or I'd imagine myself climbing to the top, and wonder what the view from way up there would be. Then suddenly, one afternoon, I locked eyes with someone.

A top the mountain was a man sitting on a smooth boulder-like rock. A perfect, nature made seat. His legs dangled downward, and his pose made it appear as if he too was gazing down at me. His palms grasped the rock to support his outstretching shoulders and arms. A small tree shaped like a pointed shoe hung over him.

This man wasn't real. I had simply brought life to an illusion. Face pareidolia. You have probably experienced this phenomenon as well. :)

I've found it hard to write about this time in my life. Seeing as weeks before I was experiencing mania and admittedly out of my mind, telling an audience about my imaginary friend I made when I was 24 only adds fodder to the fire that I was still in an altered mental state. But I want to make it clear that I was simply being myself. And this practice was not out of the ordinary for me. As someone with ADHD and an overactive imagination, my brain is constantly bringing things to life. In this case, this creation just happened to play a great part in my healing process.

Every day I'd give him a telepic "Good Morning" and maybe a verbal "See you tomorrow." I'd gaze up at him with tears in my eyes looking for comfort when I was having a bad day. Sometimes I'd mumble "I know you'd get it" to him as I sat outside having a conversation with myself. He was an outlet. I didn't have anyone else to talk to. He was just a little comfort in an uncomfortable environment. Like the comforting glow of a nightlight.

I'm so glad it was him who witnessed this important moment in my life.

It was a particularly hard day at work. Something had happened to one of the fences and workers were in and out of the yard I was looking over. I was having to constantly shout and pull dogs away from the working men. A perky, older man I had never seen before entered the yard. He strolled right up to me and was talking to me about the fence. I assumed this man was a worker. I shyly nodded along with his questions. And, assuming I was the wrong audience, I was preparing myself to politely point him towards a manager. Being unsure of the situation and listening closer to my inner monolog than he, suddenly, his tone turned angry. "Do you know who I am? I own this place; I see your name is Emily. Why aren't you talking to me Emily?" He never introduced himself to me, I had never seen or heard of him before, and my name tag clearly read ERIKA, in all capital letters. It's a blur, but he left in a huff. It was a rather quick and odd interaction. I never saw him again.

I stood there, frozen. But I knew I couldn't stay frozen. I was in a situation where I was panicking, but I couldn't run away. I knew this confrontation was enough to crumple me into a crying mess. I grasped my chest in preparation, and while this was all running through my head, I noticed I was simply shedding a few tears. I acknowledged the anxiety, and I felt it, but it was dull. Instead of being washed away in the flood waters, sandbags had protected me. The flood was still happening, and it was uncomfortable. But I was able to acknowledge I was safe.

This was, and still is, one of the most pivotal moments of my life. I had never been able to console myself. Before this, the only way to appease the anxiety was to weep it away.

As the last of the few tears I shed dropped, I gazed up at the man on the mountain and said out loud: "did you see that?"

I had that game changing moment, but it was still a skill I had to master. And one I continue to master with the help of medication and therapy.

I worked at that place for almost a year, and my relationship with the man on the mountain remained the same my entire time there. As I started to socialize and become friendly with others working there, Id occasionally ask:

"Have you ever noticed that up on that mountain, it kind of looks like a guy sitting on a rock?"

No one ever saw him. Just me.

When my time there was coming to an end, I did my best every day to take a mental photo of him. I wanted to make sure I made a painting of him to bring with me back to school. After a few tries, this became his official portrait. I still cherish it to this day.

Whenever I'm back home and in the area, I'll still try to find him. I've never been able to. Maybe my mind simply lost the illusion. or the shrubs and terrain have shifted. Or maybe I simply brought him home in my heart and mind. A warm reminder of my first steps into my healing journey.

And for the record, 2019 was the best year of my life.

erika.