where is my mind

I don’t know if this is supposed to be a letter, or a story, or maybe I’m just writing. I know I can’t relate to your struggles with drugs, but just know that you aren’t, and never will be, alone.

This is just a story about me, I suppose.

Last night I drove out to three whistle, and if you don’t know where that is, it’s just one of the bridges that people smoke under. But I went and stood in the middle of the bridge, on top of the ledge, and remembered back when I wouldn’t have hesitated to jump off.

I can’t remember how many times I have stood in that spot, but I can tell you that last night, I was just standing. I felt the wind, and heard my cousin speaking. I had no intentions on jumping, and for that I am very proud.