I’m usually the one who gets to leave. I book insane red-eye flights, KTFO as best as I can, get ready in a JFK bathroom and send my ass straight to work. I drink coffee, I put on noise-cancelling headphones, turn my music up to a dangerous decibel and I hyper-focus on my projects.

I look how I feel, like shit—but I’d rather have it this way.

I prefer the distractions of not having a moment to myself, because its easier to deal. Its always difficult as fuck leaving home. I’m always anxiety ridden the entire day. I get “miss you already” and “when are you coming back” texts before I even board the plane. I feel 5,000 emotions, and I don’t enjoy feeling that type of way. So I purposely throw myself immediately into my everyday routine, despite my lack of energy and rest. I can’t miss all of you when I’m working towards meeting multiple deadlines. I mean, I can—but I don’t have the time to lament on it.

Recently I was the one left behind. Is that what it feels like when I leave?

Cause it sucks. I hated it. I couldn’t stand it.