Almost Lost It All

I'm in Illinois, heading southwest into Missouri. My plan is to go completely west through Kansas, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, and then finally across California to drop down to the PCH and ride it all the way to Huntington Beach. I'm riding in a pick up truck with a man I barely know. He saw me walking along side of the road a few hours ago and offered me a lift. Apparently he's heading to Missouri as well. He asked me what happened to my face, but I didn't tell him. He doesn't seem very impressed with me. I'm not worried about being hurt or murdered. Nothing that happens can ever make me afraid of death, because in a messed up way, I think it would be better than living in a world such as this one.

The only thing I'm afraid of is going back. I'm afraid of all of the emotional pain. I'm afraid of seeing everyone again; their disappointed, angry faces. I'm so scared that when I get back no one will want me there. No one will care like they used to. I've missed so much, how will they ever be able to except me into their family again?

Their family.

It used to be my family, too. But I left them. I left them and I haven't been there in such a long time that maybe they've completely moved on. I proved myself to them, and then I proved them wrong. I showed them that they mean nothing, so I should mean nothing to them now.

But they mean the world to you.

Just because they mean the world to me doesn't mean they believe it. I showed them the exact opposite; no matter how much I told them I loved them before I left. It was just too painful to stay there. They could never understand how much it hurt just looking at all of them. I couldn't handle a having a constant reminder of Jimmy. I couldn't handle what I was feeling. I wanted to escape and go somewhere no one would know me or know about my past. I'm still not ready to go back. I'm still not strong enough for any of it. More than once I almost jumped out of the truck to run again.

Running may seem like an escape, but nothing helped me escape from everything I went through. No matter where I went I saw Jimmy. No matter who I was with I wanted to be in Brian's arms instead. No matter who I met I wished I was laughing with my real friends and family. The pain never left me in a different state. It was only dulled when I was distracted by something, which wasn't often. And when I was alone, which was really often, I hurt so much that sometimes I became physically sick. The pain was so much that I tried to end my life on several occasions. Each in a different state. In every state someone else found me. I curse those days. My timing has never been good, ever.

And time may heal some people, but it's never healed me. The hurting today is just as bad as it was yesterday. The hurting yesterday was just as bad as it was two years ago. I've come to the conclusion that I'm supposed to be like this, though. I'm supposed to be horribly lonely, vulnerable, and untrusting. Pessimism is my best friend and cynicism is next in line. It's just my role in this world to be as I am. I may hate it, but I deserve it. I've accepted it. I think that my bad days are traded in as good days for someone else on the planet. And I guess that's why I'm still alive. I guess that's why I've kept myself from trying anything drastic in a long time. I guess that's why I've never died before.

That and some weird feeling that if I had died, Brian would hurt. I have never wanted to hurt him and I know I've just about killed him. Somewhere inside of me has told me that if I died, then he'd die too. I can't be breathing on this planet unless I know he's somewhere else and breathing, too. For some reason I feel like he feels the same way.

Bullshit.

I want to be happy. Oh God, more than anything, I want to move on and live and love. But how do I do that when I have nothing? That might be why I'm going back. Maybe I'm looking for something. Something to help me? My old life? I could never get that back. There's too much in my past to make my future what I want. So why am I going back?

I miss them. I've missed them more than anything. I've regretted leaving, but I've ignored it. I'm a master at ignoring things. If they ever think about me, I hope they think about how I miss them. If anything, I hope they know that. But that's not why I'm going back. I honestly have no idea why I am.

--

I notice that the truck has stopped. When I look over at the driver he's talking to me. I dial in to hear what he's saying.

"...stopping now. I can let you off here." He tells me.

It takes me a second but I say thank you and slide out of the truck. I turn and watch him travel down a dirt driveway that leads to a farm in the distance. I turn to look on ahead. Stretched out in front of me is a Missouri countryside road. With a sigh I start walking. I stick a thumb up in the air. I hope someone comes along quickly because my chest is really hurting, my headache has gotten a lot worse, and my face is extremely sore. Plus my mind is engulfing me in painful time-traveling trips.

I know it'll only get worse as I race to meet my past.

I'm so afraid of going back.