Survivor guilt haunts climbers from "summary" of Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer
It's an insidious thing, this guilt. It creeps into your thoughts when you least expect it, a silent specter that whispers in your ear at night. You look at photographs of your friends - the ones who didn't make it back down the mountain - and you can't help but feel a pang of regret. Why them and not you? It's a question that haunts you, that gnaws at your conscience like a hungry rat.
You try to push the thoughts away, to focus on the present and the future, but the guilt lingers. You find yourself questioning your decisions, wondering if you could have done more to help, to save them. Maybe if you had been stronger, faster, more prepared, things would have turned out differently. Maybe if you had just been in a different place at a different time, they would still be alive.
You talk to other climbers, to friends and family, but the guilt remains. They tell you that it's not your fault, that you did everything you could, but you can't shake the feeling that you could have done more. You start to second-guess yourself, to doubt your abilities and your judgment. You wonder if you should ever climb again, if you even deserve to.
But the mountains call to you, their siren song pulling you back again and again. You know that you will never be able to escape the guilt completely, that it will always be there, lurking in the shadows of your mind. It's a burden that you will carry with you for the rest of your days, a reminder of the dangers and the tragedies that come with climbing at the edge of the world. And yet, despite it all, you know that you will keep climbing, keep pushing yourself to the limit, because that's who you are. That's what drives you, what defines you as a climber.
So you take a deep breath, square your shoulders, and set off into the unknown once more, knowing that the guilt will always be there, waiting for you at the top of the world.
