Escape Routes

#sexualassault #suicide

Sitting in a cab, I wonder how hard it would be to jump out if I needed to, if I noticed that the cab isn’t going the right way. (And do I know the city well enough to tell?) Traffic rarely moves fast here and there are a lot of stoplights, but I’d have to get out of the street fast so he wouldn’t run me over.

I like parties, but even then, I always think about leaving them. I think about when I will leave, who I will say goodbye to, how I will manage their reaction if they feel I am leaving too soon, and what I’ll do when finally, finally I’m alone again.

Whenever I’m in a relationship serious enough that ending it would necessitate a “breakup” rather than a fade-out, I imagine how and why I would initiate a breakup. What would they have to do for me to fall out of love with them, or to leave them despite still being in love? How would I say it? Who, or what, would fill the gaps they would leave in the landscape of my day-to-day life?

I plan my escape from cities, just like my parents did before me. I planned my escape from my American “hometown,” and then from the city in which I went to college, and now from the city I love most. Not because I want to leave, not this time, but because I’m afraid I’ll be forced to.

There was a period of time when I was constantly trying to figure out how to escape from life itself. Things I considered, if not seriously: tall buildings trains pills car crashes illnesses. Although I thought about it a lot, I didn’t actually intend or plan to do it. What I needed was the comfort of knowing that I had a way out.

It is ironic that despite finding change so difficult to cope with, I can sometimes only comfort myself by thinking about leaving or escaping or disappearing. Otherwise it feels like people and places are growing on me like vines, crawling on me like insects, and I need to keep shaking them off.

But in another way, escape is often a matter of survival. In that cab, in that relationship.

Being read female means always having to plan for escape.

But besides, no matter how much I enjoy something, I’m always devoting some little space in the back of my head to plotting escape routes out of it. Whether it’s a car or a room or an event or a relationship, I need to know I am free to leave.

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