April 22, 2025
By Emery Calloway

I’ve been thinking about running away for a while now. Actually, no—I’ve been planning it.

It’s hard to put into words, and even harder to say out loud, but I need to say something before I go. Because I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if this is the beginning of something or the end of something else. Maybe both.

Everything kind of started falling apart when I was 15. Diagnoses started stacking up like bricks on my chest—schizoaffective disorder, bipolar, and a few physical things I won’t even name here. Just… stuff that makes everything feel heavy. Too heavy.

School didn’t make sense anymore. Work chewed me up. I watched every connection I ever had slowly dissolve, like I was made of fog and people just walked through me.

Now I’m 19. I’ve got my route planned. The car’s gassed up. My bags are in the trunk. I don’t know where I’m going—just that it has to be somewhere else.

I’m scared. I won’t lie about that. I’m scared of the road, of being alone, of what comes after. But I’m more scared of staying stuck in this version of my life. The one that keeps swallowing me whole.

This part is for my mom, my dad, and my brother—just in case you ever see this.

Mom – You were never the problem. I know you tried so hard. You gave me love even when I couldn’t hold it. I’ll always carry that with me. You’re still my best friend. If we ever cross paths again, let’s get pho like we used to, okay? I miss that. I miss you.

Dad – I know we didn’t always get each other, but I hope you know I respect how much you did for this family. You showed up. Even when I couldn’t.

To my brother – You’re going to do great things, I really believe that. Be patient with yourself. Life doesn’t make sense half the time, but somehow, you’ve always had a way of finding your path.

I’m not disappearing out of hate. I’m doing it because I need to find a place where I can breathe. Maybe even heal.

Please don’t come looking for me. Just wish me well, wherever I end up.