Mountains (A Slightly Older Fiction Story I Wrote)

         It was heavy, large and heavy, squarely planted on the back of the man. The full weight was overwhelming at times, yet still even here forward motion was made. First it was only steps, then it became the pulling and pushing of ascension little by little. The heights ever loomed overhead and before him as a constant reminder of the difficulty of such a feat; especially with the weight he bore upon his back.

          "Don't try it. Just stop now. It will never be achieved. ", an accusing voice kept speaking to and over this worn and weary one, still he kept climbing the mountains before him. The landscape would shift and grow larger with each bit of altitude as he climbed, making the scaling of these "giants " before him more difficult still, yet he continued climbing. He kept reaching up and forward. Placing his steps as firmly as possible in the footholds of the mountains face he was wrestling with.

            Weight increased and became heavier with each new height and this wasn't even halfway. "It's too much for you. It will overtake you. This isn't gonna work. ", spoke the accusing voice once more with every ounce of growing pain and exhaustion experienced in the climb. He felt the weight expanding on his back. He knew all too well the defeat and discouragement regularly on his battered soul, plaguing his heart and mind, even here he kept persevering. He refused to simply focus on these voices that held him, on the weight that sought his destruction.

              The winds would blow, reaching for him with each effort made, aiming at ripping him off the mountains to his failure far below; here, however, he clung tighter to persistence and the wall he was climbing up. Little by little the peak came into view in every upward ascension made and this spurred him on. Failure's voice repeatedly called to him, spoke over and over to him. Discouragement joined the evil chorus of conversation with new altitudes reached; and the weight he carried remained on his back.

              Hands would shake and feet would participate in agreement while the weight on his back nearly ripped him off these mountains and a steadying was focused on in the journey to reach the top. One moment, then two, and no success of relief was evidence that he'd have to get to the top or fall to failure's floor far below in the valley. The very same place in life that waited eagerly to welcome him to stunted growth of soul again.

                He'd shakily climb, shakily pull and push up the side of overwhelming fixing his gaze on the top that pleaded with him now to arrive. He'd come dangerously close to blacking out when hope would empower him with visual reminders. Here the mountaintop drew closer to him and he was relentless! One more inch. One more intentional grasp and the goal was growing in size, slowly approaching in the perilous venture. When at last he reached the top, paused for a moment and nearly fell off toward the top, then used what little effort and energy he had left to reach the top completely.

           This was the inward struggle of "mountains" climbed everyday in the seemingly ordinary tasks undergone by a man with severe anxiety; "mountains" he was determined to not let win over him.

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