The Great War

The leaving never bothered me. I don’t think I was born to actually finish anything. I was always the first to arrive and the first to leave. Going back just proved that the city was the same as it ever was. I remember telling someone that I was leaving to fight a war. I guess the war was between me, myself and I. I don’t even know what I was fighting for anymore but it turned into something bigger. I thought that I had to burn all of my bridges when that wasn’t the case. I just wanted a fresh start that didn’t involved staying in a city that was slowly killing me. I am still unsure of how I got here. I remember my mentor telling me to smile even when I wanted to die because women like us are tough and that we can do anything especially with a broken brain.

Leaving was easy. I’m thankful for the people I left behind but I will not go back. I survived something that I didn’t think I was going to. My best friend says that I finally got my color back and that leaving did it. I am not sure if leaving did but it helped. I had gotten used to feeling like a burden. I finally have color back in my face. I loved that place for so long and when I finally left I convinced myself that it was for the best and is what had to happen. I faked it till I made it but what happens now. Leaving felt like I can finally breathe.

I really needed the change. I was hoping the subway crashed whenever I was on the 6 train. That isn’t a way to live. I still wish I would have changed my mind. I think about the things that I lost and the people I knew. I didn’t know how to make them happy anymore. When I think about it for too long I get angry again. Even after 4 years I still missed the smoke of the city. I think that maybe that city got what is best of me. All of my friends blame someone else for my downfall. It kills me. I don’t think that I will be able to open up that way again. The past me wants to go and use old coping skills that aren’t the healthiest. I thought that I just needed to grow up and then I would come back. Years passed and I felt the same. I only come home for funerals and weddings now. I knew my hometown was never to keep, But I surived the war that was in my mind.

When I think about it, it doesn’t feel like my story anymore. I’m only writing this because someone told me to write what I know and somehow this is all I know. I know that it’s sad but sometimes it’s all I can think about. I really thought I knew everything at the age of 16 but here I am ten years later just as naive. I still can’t believe that I left the way I did. Sometimes I think that I got so good at disappearing that I start to doubt my own memories. Was I even there? It was hard to be a stranger in my own hometown. So I packed up my life and moved to the ocean. I had to get away because I thought that I was gonna go to my grave. I’m lucky for my mentors who assured me that I was making the best choice. I never wanted me leaving to make anyone mad.