Standing on the Edge of Leaving

Standing on the Edge of Leaving

In a few weeks—about six—I’m leaving.

I’m not saying exactly where. I’m keeping that close to my heart. But I have a place to land, at least for a little while. A starting point. A chance, maybe, to get back on my feet.

And still… I’m scared.

Not just of the move itself, but of what comes after. I’m scared that I’ll get there and freeze. That I won’t go out. That I won’t connect with people. That everything I’ve been struggling with for the past two years will follow me and settle in even deeper.

These last two years have taken something out of me. The harassment, the constant pressure, the emotional toll—it’s left me feeling… crippled, in a lot of ways. Especially socially. Things that used to feel normal now feel overwhelming. Being around people, existing in public, trying to engage with the world—it all feels heavier than it should.

And yet, as much as I feel like I need to leave, I also know what I’m leaving behind.

Even in a place where I feel stuck, where I feel like there’s no real life for me anymore, there are still people here who have helped me survive. People who have been close to me, who have kept me grounded in ways I probably don’t fully understand. Without them, I don’t think I would have made it through these past two years.

So this isn’t just a move. It’s a separation. It’s letting go of the last pieces of stability I’ve had.

I haven’t been able to get on my feet financially. I haven’t felt secure enough to fully step back into life. And now, I’m choosing to leave anyway. To take what little I can—mostly just my clothes and a few things that matter—and let the rest go. Some of it will end up in storage. Some of it won’t come with me at all.

There’s something final about that.

Something that says: this chapter is ending, whether I’m ready or not.

And I keep asking myself the same question: Am I making the right decision?

I don’t have a clear answer.

What I do have is fear. Fear that I’ll fail. Fear that I’ll get there and shut down. Fear that I won’t be able to build anything new. And maybe the deepest fear of all—that if I fall again, I won’t have the strength to get back up this time.

Because the truth is… I can barely get up as it is.

But there’s another truth, quieter, harder to hold onto—but still there.

I’m still trying.

Even in the fear. Even in the uncertainty. Even in the exhaustion of everything I’ve been through—I’m still choosing to move. To try something different. To step into the unknown, even if I’m not sure I’m strong enough for it.

Maybe that has to count for something.

Maybe this isn’t about having certainty. Maybe it’s about movement. About refusing to stay in a place that no longer holds a future for me, even if the next place is unclear.

I don’t know what’s waiting for me on the other side of this move.

I just know I can’t stay where I am.

And for now… that has to be enough.

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