I grew up in California. One of the prerequisites for my college choice was how far away it was from home. So I spent four years in the Mid-Atlantic. I was graduating, and I wanted to leave again – so I ended up in Boston. I went from the desert in the southwest to the other side of the country, and I can’t go further east without crossing the ocean.

I’ve been running. This time, I stand still and face what I’m running from.

Myself. My demons. The depression. The guilt, the sadness, the loneliness, and the pain. I thought I could outrun it. All of it. But it’s been right there with me. All along. So no more running. This time I fight.

People keep telling me to distract myself. Think about other things to get my mind off of what bothers me. Distractions aren’t enough. Complete escape is the only thing that helps. When I was a kid, it was Harry Potter. Seriously. The end of elementary school, all of middle school, and the beginning of high school were my worst times for insomnia. I couldn’t sleep for hours. My mind was racing with all the negative thoughts, the lack of sleep made the days worse, and then I’d be back in bed. Staring at the ceiling or the darkness behind my eyelids. Crying. Focusing on nothing except my own shortcomings. Yeah, that was my life and I hadn’t even hit puberty yet. Going back, the only thing that made the insomnia better was reading. Harry Potter. Many people can tell you great things about that series – most likely a lot better than I can – but I read and reread those books more times than I could count. It was another world. It was my escape. How I ran away from what was going on in my own head.

College offered many escapes. But now, fewer and fewer things give me that release. I can’t speak for anyone other than myself, but that’s why I imagine many people with mental health issues becoming alcoholics, drug addicts, or cutting themselves. Whatever it is – if it provides a few hours of euphoria or a few minutes of pure physical pain – it’s an escape. Which is great at the time. It helps you forget – take your mind off the mental pain. But you’ll always go back to it. I’ll always go back to it.

I can’t really live unless I address what’s happening to me – what’s been happening to me. Even if I find an escape, be it a book or a person, I can’t hide in that world forever. At the end of the day, I’m back in my own head. I can leave the city I’m in now. Start over completely or go back to a city that I’m familiar with, but I know what that would be for me right now. Running.

Standing my ground and fighting isn’t any easier. Admitting that there is something to fight isn’t easy. It’s work. It’s tedious, painful work. It’s taking my medication when I need to, it’s going to my therapy appointments even when I feel like there’s no hope. And that – it seems like it should be so easy, but it’s not. Trying to change how I think – about myself, about the world – it hurts. Those are the punches I have to hit, the reps I need to go back to to get myself at a place that isn’t so harsh and agonizing.

If I run again, then I’m not doing myself a favor. I’ll just get lost and meet those demons in my head again. And it’s a different battle when you face your opponent and when you’re blindsided by their attack. This time I’m not running.