I often have the urge to run away.
When I was a child, sharing a room with my sister, I ran away to live in the upstairs bathroom. It seemed far enough away and luxurious at the time. I had planned on actually running away, but it was snowing outside, and if nothing else, I was a practical child.
There are times in my adult life I’ve wanted to run. When life gets complicated, when things feel too intense, when I don’t know how to appropriately react. I have this strong desire right now, to pack myself and D in the car, with just enough to get by; to drive off with no destination in mind.
I want to hide somewhere where no one knows me, where no one asks anything of me. Where there are no regrets for recent decisions or anxiety attacks over changes impending.