Away from the proud evergreens and birch forests of northern Michigan that my heart called home, I felt lost. The year was 2011 and my fiancé, Jake, and I found ourselves shifted south, to a small river town in Kentucky, for his internship. I enrolled in a local college—one I retrieved my books for, but never went to—and began the days of waiting. Waiting for him to return to our apartment after his shifts at the paper mill, with eyes peeled to the horizon for clouds that could grow into tornadoes, waiting for the times I’d have to leave our small apartment to venture out, feeling lost and afraid. Depression quietly became the only companion I had when Jake was gone. Somewhere amongst those shadows, I clawed out; for anything really, other than fear and the flicker of the television on blank walls. I had to do something, anything to give me back to myself.
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