Leaving is a strange concept. Everyone knows that it will eventually happen. But nothing could prepare me for the pain of actually going through with it.

I was numb at first, I think. Because I did not feel anything at all when I started packing up my possessions into cardboard boxes.

Then, it came time to clear off the closet door. And that’s when all of the nostalgia and sadness hit me.

I was about three photographs in, examining the pictures of me and my friends and family. Some were dated, others were not. But by the time I laid the third Polaroid into the tattered Converse shoe box, I felt a strange pang in my chest.

The feeling grew stronger with each picture I carefully peeled off of the wooden door. It built up and gathered in my core until it started clawing at my throat, begging to be released.

I could only hold my emotions back for a few minutes longer before they escaped my mouth in a strangled, strange noise. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anything like that come out of my mouth before.

But now that it is out there is no going back—I cannot hold the flood gates any longer.

I’m leaving. For good. I will most likely never see some of the people I’ve grown up with again. I’ll rarely see my family. I’ll be on my own and that is a terribly beautiful thing.