Several months ago I made the decision to completely blow up my life.

Impulsive, yeah. Not well thought out either.

If you asked me why I did it, I'm not sure I would be able to offer a cognate explanation.

I guess I was just feeling trapped. I was starting to get tired of it all.

It was Monday morning.

I was on the metro going to work as usual, but when my stop came, I didn't get up.

I remained sitting until the end of the line,

arriving in some industrial part of the city I'd never returned to.

I stood up and I walked off the train and onto the platform, breathing in the cold air.

I checked the time on my phone.

8.10 a.m.

A few minutes later, I got a text for my boss.

Where are you?

A message that would have usually sent me into a panic, but at that moment, I just felt too detached from everything to care.

A strange kind of feeling, I guess something in me just snapped.

I just didn't want to deal with it anymore.

Going to work and then coming home and studying in the hopes of advancing in a career I couldn't have cared less about.

I've been working forever, going to school, forever.

And I always told myself that someday I wouldn't have to anymore, but I'd stopped feeling so sure about that.

I made my way out of the station, with the morning rush settled. It was mostly empty.

I chose a street at random and began walking until I found a bar.

And after a few drinks, I was smiling.

...