People tell me I made the right choice

Why do I continue to doubt myself? What was I thinking, moving out here?

I could have easily stayed in Calgary. I didn’t have to put up with my mom. I could have stayed working at Shoppers Drugmart, taken on full time hours, continued school online, moved out.

I could even go back. There’s a bedroom at Jen’s house calling my name. Four hundred a month, all inclusive. I had finally muscled up the discipline to deny the party drugs being waved under my nose. Was I stuck up to think I deserved more?

I’ll always miss wandering through the industrial parks until the sun rose, having deeply personal talks with my “family”, as we called it (more like a drug cult, now that I look back on it). I’ll miss seeing someone I knew every time I got on the bus, taking the opportunity to brag about how perfectly content I was with my exceedingly social, eventful, liberating life. I’ll miss the superficial romances where “I love you” would roll off our tonges until it meant nothing.

“It doesn’t get any better than this” we would say. I don’t know about them, but that was a lie for me. Not that I had known any better, but I knew there had to be more.

The eccentric, awkward pre-teen in me didn’t want to leave, but I think something happened when I started approaching eighteen. Every mistake I made, each feeling of self-hate or helplessness, every brain cell I killed would become my responsibility.

Turning eighteen would mean eighteen years of my life gone by, and I still wasn’t a rock star.

So, here I am.
Hoping to God the apathy of sober life will pass.
Hoping that the loneliness of starting again is only temporary.
Wondering if two months isn’t too long to still second guess my decision to get out of my slightly-demented, teenage fantasy world.

I need to stop calling what we had "love". There are people here who believe I'm worth more than what I used to be, I guess I just need to learn to believe it too.