At first, when you feel like there’s a bomb tied to you, you want to rip it off. But when you realize you’re just a little girl and your arms are too weak, you learn to love the bomb. The ticking becomes soothing, and you learn to live with the explosion. The bomb becomes your life. But you’re still scared of it, because for no reason at all, it could destroy you and everyone you love. Eventually, people start seeing you as the bomb itself, and they avoid you, afraid of being caught in the crossfire when it detonates.

I was too young when I got this bomb to remember if I strapped it on myself, or if someone else put it there. But the “why” didn’t matter. Often, I would push away people who tried to disarm it because, after spending my formative years with that bomb, it was all I had. I knew it would be there until the end—unlike anyone else.

I had professionals check out my bomb, even my parents, but most people just wanted to pretend it wasn’t there. I was encouraged not to talk about it, in case it reflected poorly on others who could have disarmed it sooner. Sometimes I thought people would be happier if they didn’t have to deal with me and my bomb. After hearing for so many years how exhausting it was for others, it’s hard not to think that. When you're angry, you think you must deserve the bomb, but deep down, there’s nothing you want more than to get rid of it.

That didn’t mean I was invincible. There were still people who sought to bring harm into my life. People who called me names, threw things at me, and poured things on me. But whenever I felt myself ready to return to the bomb, I reminded myself of how much I had grown without it. With my head clear, I realized it was time to make changes and move away from the people who had enabled the bomb to stay in my life. I wasn’t nearly in the homestretch, and things would still be hard, but at least it was easier now without a perpetual ticking timer.

I knew I needed to get away from my situation and the people in it. I want to clarify that what I did was dangerous and reckless. I wouldn’t suggest doing it unless you’re prepared to leave everything behind and never look back.

I started planning, and time slipped by faster than I could catch up. It’s a strange feeling being the only person who knows that soon you’ll be gone. Everything seemed to move so slowly, except for time itself. The closer my 18th birthday came, the more surreal it felt. I started skipping classes, then school altogether. I would drive hours out of town only to loop back around. I was almost never home until it was time to sleep. No one asked where I was or what I was doing. I gave away most of my things, and what I couldn’t, I threw out. My room became empty, but still, no one asked what was up.

The week before I left, I rearranged my room and started sleeping on the floor. I wanted to feel something. There were times when I wondered what it would be like to drive off the bridge on my ride home from work, and sometimes I’d start to drift. But I knew I needed to hold on for just one more week.

March 22nd, the day had finally come. It was 5:30 in the morning when I'd woken up from a nearly sleepless night, all of my school textbooks and papers neatly at the end of my bed, and my backpack instead filled with the rest of my possessions, everything I would need to travel across the country. My heart was in my chest as I went downstairs and saw my dad for the last time, he was in the kitchen, he said happy birthday to me and told me to have a good day at school. I could hear my mom running on the treadmill downstairs, and I gave my dad one last hug, wishing I could go say goodbye to my mom one last time. But I held my breath and left the house, walking out to my car and turning the key in the ignition, taking a deep breath, turning off my location on my phone's tracker, and driving in the opposite direction of the school. 

My hands were sweaty on the wheel. I admired the roads, knowing it would be the last time I’d see them like this. About ten minutes after I left, my mom texted me, asking where I was. I kept driving. I drove 30 minutes out of town to a Walmart parking lot, sinking into my seat, hoping no one would notice me. Paranoia overtook me. I took out my SIM card, snapped it in half, and threw it into a stream in front of the parking lot. I waited for my friend to pick me up. We had agreed he’d take me the rest of the way to avoid being stopped. When he finally arrived, we hugged. I loaded everything I owned into the trunk of his car, and we drove out of my state.

As soon as we left, it felt like I had been born again. I was still nervous, but it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Like I’d said goodbye to my past self, leaving all her baggage in that parking lot. Things weren’t over yet. My parents reported me missing, but as soon as we left the state, I felt a sense of freedom I had never known before.