The day after I finished 5th grade in Texas, we moved to North Carolina. In Texas, I was a well-adjusted, popular, confident child. Although I liked NC and school was okay, I cried every night because I missed Texas and my friends and life there. Immediately, I acquired a monster crush on a boy named Bill with grey eyes; he was a year older than me and didn’t know of my existence. At nights when I cried into my pillow, I soothed myself with thoughts of Bill, he was the only reason I wanted to stay in NC. Of course, I told no one of my crush or my nocturnal crying spells. What did not happen: Bill did not notice me, along with all the other boys in my school. What did not happen: My parents didn’t recognize my maladjustment to our move. What did not happen: our family didn’t move back to Texas. I realize this was my first yearning for a geographical cure. I thought moving back to Texas would solve all of my problems and make everything okay. Maybe that was the truth, but it also planted an idea in my young mind that moving was a viable escape, an alternative to staying in pain in the present as it was. I later became a lover who left. I left 3 men I deeply loved, each in a uniquely painful way. There was no pattern between the scenarios of leaving, other than my sudden departures. The other lover that I left, eventually took his own life and left us all.