I sat there with tears flowing down my face, I could feel them cool my blood warmed face. I had to stop crying or else my parents would know and then I would just cry harder. I didn’t want them to hate me. I wiped the tears with my t shirt and I tried to breathe evenly to calm my self down.
            My therapist said I would need a good cry. I finally let her see the darkest parts of me after two months and it was painful but freeing. It felt as if weights had been pulled off my overburdened shoulders. I’d finally said it to someone besides myself. “I want to leave.”
            She said it was a good idea but I wasn’t so certain, I could feel my stomach twisting up in knots as the panic began to set in. “Was this really what I want?” I asked myself repeatedly. If I did this would I really be happy?
            The unsureness turned inside of me over and over again before a gentle calm settled over my mind. “Yes, I would do this,” I told myself and felt the panic leave my stiff body. My shoulders relaxed, I stopped shaking, and then I could breathe again.
            I knew it would be like opening a dam, my parents would hate me but it would be done. I would be able to completely breathe again, and I could forward my goal to happiness.
            I reached for my phone and dialed my grandmother’s number and asked her the question I’ve been pouring over, “Can I move in with you?” I asked a scaredness present in my voice. She looked at me for a moment and then her face softened and she just nodded.
            With her permission I readied myself to tell my parents. I was scared but the thought of my family helped me push myself forward.