I-55 South to Survival

Leaving Chicago was about healing—not hiding.

Jan 11, 2021

I.

Days before the new year, I tossed five overstuffed suitcases into the back of my Jeep and sped down I-55 South, leaving the comfort and familiarity of Chicago behind. Less than five hours and 300-something miles later, I arrived at a relative’s house in St. Louis. I showed up with only a couple hundred dollars to my name and a fraction of my belongings — the rest of everything I own tucked away in a storage unit miles and miles out of reach. Of course, none of this was planned. To know me is to know I am not the type of chick who would uproot her life on a whim and leave behind all she knows to go start over in another city. I play it way too safe to ever do something like that. And yet, here I am.

The best way to explain this without disclosing too many details is that sometimes in life, our circumstances are not of our choosing. Sometimes, we are willed into situations that we wouldn’t necessarily choose for ourselves and just have to find a way to make the most of it. And for me, this happens to be one of those times.

The fucked up circumstances that led to my abrupt departure from Chicago are not up for discussion right now because honestly, I’m still reeling from the hurt and pain of it all, but I am safe now and survival mode has been activated.

II.

My life is currently on fire. Nothing is as it was. I’m wondering, who can quell this fire? Will anyone come to my rescue before the billowing flames swallow me whole? I ask this already knowing the answer. It has to be me this time — just as it’s been in times past.

This feels like rock bottom for me. Leaving Chicago and coming to St. Louis was one of the hardest choices I’ve been forced to make in a long time. On its face, it probably seems like the choice was easy and borne out of convenience as a way to physically distance myself from him and the shame of the situation, or as a means of avoiding inevitable scrutiny and questions. But let me be clear: coming to St. Louis had nothing to do with him and everything to do with my healing and my survival.

III.

Yesterday marked three weeks since I landed in St. Louis, and I swear it feels like it’s only been a day and an entire year all at the same time. So far, I’ve unpacked my five suitcases, figured out where the local Walmart is, and found a 24-hour laundromat that’s a short drive away. Still, I wouldn’t say I’ve settled in yet. I don’t think I ever will…settle in, that is. After all, the whole point of coming here was never to make myself comfortable or get complacent. I’m here to stitch the pieces of my life back together. To pull myself up from rock bottom. To heal and have inner peace and happiness again.

I don’t have any concrete plans for what’s next. Right now, my focus is getting through the next minute, the next hour, the next day without crumbling into tiny pieces while everyone’s waiting and watching. Right now, it’s about surviving. And I suppose that’s what it will be for some time.

Until the next cup! ☕️

—Andrea

P.S. If you missed the introductory newsletter, read it here.

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