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I found this park during my junior year of college. I was trying to find discreet, nice places to enjoy a cigarette where I wouldn’t be worried about running into any of my Mormon peers and classmates. I felt free at this park. I’d lay on the grass, walk around, read at the picnic table in the tree-covered area. I came here for the last time on a cruel winter morning, in one of my last weeks in Utah before I moved away. My life was beginning to crumble and fall down in pieces around me that December. I came to the park before classes, read and smoked. I wandered to the bridge and paused to stare at the cold, dark water. I couldn’t keep trying to force myself into a life I wasn’t meant to live. In a park, on a bridge over a small creek, I stood, completely estranged from myself and everything I’d imagined I’d be and all of the things I thought I’d do. This week marked 2 years since that morning. I am far from Paul Ream Wilderness Park now, and even farther from the girl who stood on that bridge.