Why does leaving have to hurt so fucking much?

There is one major reason why NYC can never be my home:  it hurts too fucking much to leave my other home behind.  I go through this every time I go home to IL and then have to leave again.  First I’m in the denial phase.  This usually happens a couple days before I leave.  I should be upset about having to leave soon, but instead I just kind of ignore it completely.  If I don’t think about it, it won’t happen, right?.  Then I go through the depression phase.  This lasts usually from the day/night before I leave until a couple days after I arrive.  I cry randomly throughout the day, and practically sob myself to sleep at night.  Just when I think I’ve got it under control and I’m okay…boom, another bout of tears.

The absolute hardest day is the actual day of the trip.  Like today for example.  I wake up, see my suitcase, know I have to pack, and my eyes immediately well up.  I pack–interrupted only a couple times by tears–get ready, and wait for the grandparents and my best friend from down the street to come say goodbye.  I’m fine with the grandparents–almost forget I’m leaving–a little less fine with the friend, but still okay.  As soon as she leaves and I have to go get my shoes on and put my bags in the car, the waterworks start again.  It’s real now.  I’m really fucking leaving.  My parents and I go get sodas and drive to pick up my siblings from the other grandma’s house, then head to the airport. The whole ride tears keep dripping down my face, even though I try to hide it from my family, especially my baby sister.  My parents notice, but know I want them to pretend they don’t, and my sister doesn’t understand that I’m crying.  She just keeps asking me why I keep wiping my eyes and nose on a kleenex, which makes me cry even more.  The tears come a little faster as we pull into the airport and my dad gets my bags out.  I barely keep it together as I say goodbye to my sibs and parents–saying goodbye to my sis was the hardest goodbye of all.  I managed to keep it mostly together throughout the trip–even convinced myself that while not “good,” I was “okay”–until I got to my apartment and had to call my family to tell them I made it.  It was all I could do not to break down while talking to them, and I even failed at that a couple times.

I fucking hate this feeling.  I’ve been fortunate that this intense separation anxiety is the worst feeling I’ve ever experienced, but that doesn’t make it any fucking better.  I keep telling myself that I’ll see them in four months at Christmas, then in May for my sis’s 4th b-day, then at Disney World in September, and then I’ll graduate and be home for good by Christmas 2010.  Personally, I can’t wait to use my one way ticket in December 2010 and leave NYC behind as just a place I might visit every couple years.  It’s not that I don’t love it here, I do, but I love my family more and I don’t want to fucking hurt like this more than I have to.

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