Everyone is Irish on St. Paddy’s, but I drank more like a Russian that night. We sat in a circle and took shots of vodka like it was the only liquid in the world that could sustain us. I lined up nine shots and put them away professionally. I was ready to enjoy my life and I knew booze would get me there. But sitting around with nine shots of petroleum disguised as vodka, I was disappointed in my lack of buzz and made my way downstairs for a smoke.

My inbox was often empty.
No new messages.
I checked too frequently, never giving it a chance to fill up, never giving my family and friends a chance to think about me.

For years after AMDA, I struggled to accept my decision. I had turned my back on a city that I loved, people that I had formed a beautiful bond with, and a dream I had nurtured throughout my childhood. Surrounded by the Midwest and all that entails, I saw beauty in nothing, and no matter what I took into my body I never felt fulfilled.