„Once you taste freedom you never go back“ it blasted out of the speakers in the corner of the little petrol station. A man in cowboy clothes and beard was gracing the screen of the TV Box, taking a deep inhale from his cigarette while looking accomplished into the distance. I rolled my eyes. Not so sure if at him or at the past version of myself who would have believed in the absolute truth of that statement. That once you leave the squaremetres of your own comfort zone, jump the fence of all you know and make it to the other side, you‘ve broken free. There would be nothing that could hold you back any longer. You just had to make it to the other side and then life could only go up. Freedom…

Well the 20 squaremetre box of petrol station I was currently standing in tasted nothing like freedom. Old. Familiar. Small. Limiting.

How did I end up here again? I questioned myself as I ran a snickers bar past the beeper and charged the customer 0,96$. Customer…as if it‘s some stranger and not Vinnie, the janitor of my high school, now retired. Mostly at the pub every day from noon till midnight, when he comes in to buy his snack of the night. We exchange an awkward nod like we always do and he slowly drags his body out of the door again. I put the coins into the cash register and get a glance of my reflection as the computer screen lights up.

People always talk about taking the big risks, making the moves, going for your dreams. They rarely talk about what happens if you do and fail. When you break free only to realise that the shackles of your past will drag you right back to where you started. And right back for me meant Henderson, Wyoming. 2000 inhabitants. 4000 cows. One petrol station. Said petrol station I was standing in.

I don’t look much into the mirror at the moment. Maybe it‘s because shame hasn‘t left my eyes yet, or disappointment is still gravitating the corners of my smile down. Maybe because I look empty and tired. Different to how I used to. My mind flashes back…

New Years Eve 3 years ago. I am wearing a full face of makeup, fake lashes and a pink wig. Looking straight into my eyes in the mirror. The view makes me laugh at myself the way you only do when you hit that perfect level of alcohol to blood ratio where intoxication turns in to infatuation. „You did it“ I whisper to myself, beaming with pride. „We are in NYC. You made it. You really made it out.“

I close my eyes, as a beam of headache rushes through my head. My hands grasp the corner of the register‘s counter viciously till my knuckles turn white. No, no, no, no… this can‘t be it. This can’t be where my story ends. It feels as if for the first time the full reality of my situation is sinking in. Henderson, Wyoming. I panickly look around the room for traces of myself, but I can’t find anything that gives me a sense of security. That feels like me. Suddenly the smell of petrol and tabacco in the air makes me sick. My heart is starting to beat so fast, I feel like I am about to burst. I dont think twice before pushing myself around the corner and storming out of the door into night. I don‘t know what is happening, but it feels like the blood in my veins is rushing at full speed. My breath is panting heavily as I start running into the dark. Off the grounds of the petrol station and onto the only main road that crosses our town. It‘s not like running will get me anywhere, but with every metre that passes I feel parts of myself coming back to life.

When you loose something physically you can try to look in all the places you last used it. Try to stitch your memory back together till maybe you remember.

But what if the thing you lost is not a necklace or a key but you. Your identity. Your dreams.

I had been so long gone now, I couldn‘t even remember the last time I had seen myself in the lost and found department of my own mind.

So I kept running. Not because it got me anywhere but because I was so tired of not moving on. But maybe in order to move on I had to move back. Go back to the first moment I started to loose myself and stitch it back together. Go back to that coffee shop on the corner of the 53rd avenue, back to… Andrew. My face pulled itself apart at the thought. I had vowed to not think a single second about anything that had happened in New York. But what was the alternative.

If I couldnt go back physically at least I could in memory. And maybe somehow I would start to see where is all went wrong. And what I had to change in order to find myself once again.