Leaving.

The city has a pulse of its own. There is no explaining the rush, the way things move, the way that everything is so close, packed in, on top of everything. The faces, so close together, yet anonymous. A girl sits on the train, sick, and then man across from her hands her a bag. They do not speak. Her unspoken gratitude hangs in the air, dispersed with the opening of the trains and the influx of new people, dressed in costumes. Cars pass me as I walk down the street, blaring music, yelling, loving Saturday night.
I love the quick rush, but more than that, I love the splash of the water against the concrete that separates the city from the lake. I love the way it hits the beaches, little waves onto a little beach. I love the way that you can see the sky from there, green grass and trees. Somewhere, along that path that leads to peace and everywhere, there is a Peace Garden. I’ll never get to it, but I want to. Something made it catch my attention from the road, a small enclave in the middle of such a busy world.
I am not happy unless I’m near the lake, and I realize that I cannot live there forever. I cannot spend my winter huddled in the Peace Garden, I cannot wait for spring on the path, watching the waves and the lake turn gray against the sky.
I am coming home. It’s been long enough. I’m giving up Chicago, the lake, and the red line so that I can be happy.
August seems so long ago, it’s been a long time since. It’s not him, I know that’s your first thought. He’s fine, we’re fine. I’m tired, always, about to be left alone with an alcoholic-depressive for spring semester. I won’t be alright, if I have to do that. I’ve been slipping back into it for two months. I didn’t think that it would ever happen again, not to me. I’m more detached than ever. I am numb, angry for no reason, unhealthy. Depression, while I live in prime real estate. Who would have thought.
When I called her to tell her what I wanted to do, and for the first time, as I discussed all of the options and weighed them out in my head, I felt something. I felt happy, sort of. Relieved. Lighter.
I miss the mountains.
Emily can’t come back. I’ll wilt.
I have nothing left to write. I sit down and my mind is blank. I think all the time, it never shuts off. I’m worrying about a million different things, about everything, about Mom, Danny, Katie, Mike, cancer, life, careers, schoolwork…..It never stops. I’m more alone than ever, and I’m surrounded on all sides by people. I don’t want to know the people that I do, I make excuses not to hang out.
I’m taking spring semester off, sort of. I’ll be living at home, working, and going to school. But just Metro, to keep my brain working, and to not waste money. Applications are going out, to schools, begging acceptance. They’ll respond, and my life will continue. I’m not quitting college, I’m adjusting.
Don’t say anything. Just realize that no education is worth losing your sanity for. Loyola soon will be nothing but a memory, a past life, and I can settle down and sleep, and breathe. Breathe.
I just want to feel okay again.
I love Chicago. But I love Denver more.

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