I'm writing this like a statement because that's the only way I can keep it straight.

If I write it like a story, my brain starts trying to make it neat. It starts putting reasons where there weren't any.

It starts turning the parts I can't explain into something symbolic or poetic, and that's not what

this was. What happened to me started as a physical thing that left physical marks. It followed

rules, or at least patterns. And the only reason I'm still breathing is because I started treating

it like an ongoing incident instead of a bad memory. I'm not asking you to believe in monsters. I'm asking

you to believe that something can target you, mark you, and keep coming back, even if you never

get a clean look at what it is. I went on the trip because I needed quiet, not to take a bath

and put your phone down kind of quiet, the kind where the noise in your own head doesn't have

anything to bounce off of for a while. I'd been sleeping badly for months. I was jumpy, tired,

and angry for no good reason, and I'd started doing that thing where you tell people you're fine

because you don't have the energy to explain that you're not. I work a job where staring at screens all day is normal.

I've camped off and on since I was a kid.

I know enough to respect weather, to hang food, to keep my headlamp where I can reach it,

to not take dumb risks.

I didn't go out there to prove anything.

I went out there because the Rockies were a few hours

away and I could get a couple nights where nobody needed me. I picked a trail I'd done before

in daylight with friends, years earlier. Not the exact same route, but the same general area.

A popular enough trailhead that you don't feel like you're vanishing, but with enough branching

side trails that you can still find a pocket of space.

I'm not putting the exact trail name here because I don't want anyone going out there

...