All my life I’ve wanted to run away when things get bad. When I was a freshman in college in North Carolina, I called my parents late at night, crying from a phone booth so my roommate couldn’t hear. I wanted to go home. I hated being so far away from my family (they were in Maine at the time) and I had had it. My dad told me to go back in, pack up my stuff, and leave. Just like that. It was the middle of the semester and he told me to come home. From that moment on, something changed. I think just needed to know that option was there, that they’d support me if that was the choice I needed to make. I never left.
But even though I never left, that thought was always there when things got rough. I can always leave. Fast forward 5 years and I was living in another part of North Carolina and I felt like my life had spiraled downward again. I was out of school, clueless as to what to do next, and my boyfriend had just left me for his best friend. What did I want to do? I wanted to leave. So this time I did. I moved back up north and settled in Rhode Island near my sister. Things went swimmingly for me for a long time. Until I fell in love with a married (but separated at the time!) man. As you’re probably beginning to gather, that didn’t work out so hot. So, I was unhappy for much of the remaining 4 years of my time in RI — not all because of him, but he certainly had a large part of it. Years later I finally gathered up enough strength to make a move again. Granted, my inability to be with the man that I loved was not the sole reason I wanted to leave. He doesn’t get that much credit. But I’d be lying to say that that wasn’t an added bonus of moving to the other side of the country. So off I went to California. A few weeks later I meet and fall hard for a man that not only seems to have permanent roots to this town that are stubbornly immune to even a saw, he has a kid whose mother is still in the picture who lives very close by. Moving is not an option. I realized early on that that’s a huge reason why I was meant to find Tim, I needed someone that forced me to stay when things got rough. (He also took care of that other pesky problem mentioned above as I learned what love really was. Plus, I use him for his body – good things all around.)
This year has tested that desire to move to the nth degree. Numerous times I have just wanted to run away. Somehow it felt like if I left the house I miscarried in and the people who knew me when it happened, it would’ve all been been just a bad dream. But we stayed and I dealt with it even though it felt impossible at times. And now I’m at an impasse with a friend here and it’s awful. I don’t want it to be like this. The back and forth she and I are doing is just making me so sad. So last night I begged Tim to move. I was even close to offering up whatever I could – body, soul, bank account – to just get him to budge. But that’s not going to solve anything and I should know that by now. I need to learn to let go of things and to not let them effect me so much, but it’s just so damn hard. It’s like I feel too much. How do I make that stop? I’ve actually gotten better over the years with Tim’s help, but some things I just can’t free myself of. And I can’t shake the feeling that moving would do that for me.
Dealing with the grief of all of this is painful enough on it’s own, why do we have to deal with the awful social part of it to? I just spent a year facing my sadness head-on and don’t know if I have the energy to face this, too. But I have to. She’s a friend and this is what we have to do. I’m just so tired. And Seattle is looking better and better….