Not sure what switch was flipped in my brain this weekend. I spent it in a house in the mountains of New Hampshire with my oldest friends. Reading on a porch as the sun set over the ridge, a sun shower began. I put my book down and stood in the rain and accepted that, even though I might not always remember that moment, I could at least focus on enjoying it.

Back in Boston I ate with my mother. I tried to talk about everything that's been going on in my brain, but nothing came out making any sense. I just end up staring into space and thinking about being dead until she flags me back into existence.

California. England. Boston. New York. All of them seem arbitrary at this point. I could start over anywhere. "Don't run away from something, run to something else." I can't even fathom what I would be running towards. Away from, that's easy. That would be my failures in this place.

If I leave this coast, I may never come back. I disappear now, even being close to the people from this life.

My mother said, "Of course you'll come back," and I replied with no hesitation, this manic look in my eyes, "No. I don't think I would. I would buy a ticket and you'd never hear from me again." Not a threat, more out of a sadness. I go weeks without speaking to anyone, now. On days off I'm searching for anyone to spend time with.

"You love your music," my mom says. When I say I don't, she clarifies, "No, I meant performing it."

"My music is just something I do by myself in my bedroom. That has nothing to do with living in New York."

I love these people so much, the ones that I spent this past weekend with. I get so exhausted missing them and trying to make life without them work. It's all I've ever wanted, and I don't know why I've held onto that dream for so long.