Running Away

It looks like this may actually happen. The pieces are in place, the logistics mostly worked through, the plans checked and double checked.

Transplanting to Oregon. Hopefully. Fingers crossed.

Is that something good? I’d like to think so. An environment that is not inherently murderous to someone with my particular blend of physical and psychological deficiencies? Check. Better employment options? Check. A more diverse and accepting artistic community? Check. Cheaper? Check. All positives.

Does that mean there’s no negatives? Probably not. But the apparent positives far outweigh them. But it’s not the concept of how their vehicle registration system works, or figuring state tax on top of federal – and the nightmare that will be calculating two-state income with a potential dab of a week of unemployment covering the “job transfer leave” period in the middle – but things tied to my own unstable mental state.

I’ve heard a saying before: “Put an asshole on a plane in Baltimore, an asshole gets off the plane in LA.” Substitute whatever geographically seperated locations you like in there, it boils down to the same. Gist of it is that a change in locale is not a fix for anything. I disagree, in this particular instance, but that doesns’t mean part of me doesn’t think it’s right. “Sure,” that part of me says, “you’ll be able to breathe, won’t need half those meds you’re currently taking and can cut back on the others, will have better access to the things you need, both personal and professional, and will be in a place you’ve wanted to be since you discovered there were locations other than Nevada in the world. But is that really going to make anything better?”

I know that’s stupid. I know it’s the part of me that is afflicted with a number of issues that the nice man in the white coat gives me all those pills for. I know that while it won’t fix everything, when you take away a large number of stressors and add in some additional supports, it overall makes things better.

But I’m still scared. Terrified that I’m about to press a giant reset button only to end up at the same fucked up checkpoint that I can’t pass, or worse, will only be making it worse.

I don’t know what to do except hope. I may be an asshole getting on a plane in Reno, and I may still be an asshole getting off the plane in Salem… but at least maybe I can be a marginally happier and healthier asshole. Cross your fingers and wish me luck.

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