It wasn’t a long drive. I had expected it to take at least an hour and a half, but the traffic wasn’t as bad as it usually was on a Wednesday morning in Accra. Especially on this route.

“Less time to wait and think,” I muttered to myself. That was a good thing. I didn’t want to sit in the back of this taxi any longer than I had to. Normally, I’d put my headphones on and zone out to some music, but I’d already scrolled through my playlists and nothing felt right. I tried reading a book, but how many times do you have to read the same line to realize your mind is everywhere except on the page? 

I settled for staring out the window, letting my thoughts wander.

Thinking about the reason for the trip.

I’d lied to my friends—told them I was going to meet John and probably spend the rest of the week there. They wouldn’t ask too many questions; they knew how things went when I was at his place. I loved John and I hated using him like this, but I had to leave for a while—whatever ‘a while’ meant.

He’d hate it. Be upset, even. But I thought he’d understand. He’d have wanted to leave with me. I suspected he wanted to leave first—use my plan so I’d be stuck here. 

I liked John. More than I ever liked to admit, though it was obvious to my friends and maybe even to him. I just couldn’t like him enough to stay. I guess I couldn’t love anyone enough to not leave. 

I remembered a conversation with Aire a few months ago, over dinner. He’d said he didn’t understand how easy it was for people to walk away from their closest friends or relatives. I understood him, but I couldn’t relate. I couldn’t tell him that my experiences had made it easy to walk away, no matter how much I cared. Maybe it was selfish—maybe I didn’t consider how it would affect others—but I wouldn’t be on this trip if I cared that much about how it would make my loved ones feel.

The contents of my bag would be enough to disturb even the wildest of my friends. I knew it was risky—being on the road with police checkpoints between here and my destination. With my hairstyle-overgrown kinky twists that looked like locs, I looked like an easy target. Like I might have something on me, or something on my phone, that’d give them a reason to stop me. Even if they didn't find anything incriminating, they’d find a way to squeeze money out of me anyway. It had happened too many times. 

The road made me anxious.

But that was the thing. A lot of things made me anxious. All I needed was a little time with an experience or person to find a reason to worry. It wasn’t that I wanted to be detached—it just made things easier. Living the way I did—always anxious—was exhausting. 

It had to end. 

I needed a new start.

I had been so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realize I was nearing my destination—only two minutes away.

“Can I get your mobile money number?” I asked. I disliked waiting after the driver stopped, but it felt more appropriate since he was still driving. He offered his name before I could even ask, which I appreciated. I often wished I didn’t have to ask at all-drivers rarely liked card payments and often lacked change for cash. Mobile money, though inconvenient, was the simplest option. I waited until the ride ended to make the transfer, aware of the charge but cautious of fluctuations. I didn’t want to overpay or risk transferring twice.

“Thank you,” I said as I got out of the car. He hadn’t annoyed me. Most drivers were either too busy making calls, spouting off ridiculous (and often misogynistic) opinions, or driving like they're in a Fast and Furious movie—except, you know, without the skills. I'd had a few drunk ones too, and honestly, drunk or sober, it waslike playing bumper cars with a blindfold. But this driver? He was neither speeding nor crawling along like a snail on a hangover. He just drove. And for once, I felt… safe. Honestly, he deserved a medal—or at least a solid high-five lol! I couldn’t tip him past the extra “charges” added to the ride, so thanks would have to do. He didn’t respond—or maybe I didn’t hear him. Either way, I wasn't bothered. I had a long walk ahead of me.

Standing at the beginning of the trail, I was already starting to regret my decision.

“You really could’ve found other ways,” I muttered to myself. It was true. People found all sorts of ways to relieve stress, and here I was, choosing to take this long walk. It would surprise anyone who knew me well. I’d always talked about how much I hated hiking, yet here I was, about to walk up a hill in Aburi.

I put my backpack on the ground and started rummaging through it, trying to keep an eye out for anyone nearby. I didn’t expect to see anyone, but somehow, people always showed up when you least expected them to. It didn’t take long to feel the little lighter in the back pocket of my bag. I sighed with relief, imagining what would’ve happened if I hadn’t packed it.

“Well, you’ve got enough stuff,” I said to myself, pulling a small pouch from my underwear—the best place I could think of to hide my stash. I pulled out a joint and dropped the pouch into my bag.

“Finally,” I thought, firing up the lighter. I put the joint between my lips, slowly drawing in air and touching the other end to the flame. I liked watching the joint meet the orange tip. I always told myself it lit faster there than at the glittering blue core. Whether that was true or not, I never cared enough to check.

I inhaled for a few seconds, letting the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling, releasing as much of it as I could.

“Smoking kills you,” I muttered to myself. “Just not fast enough.”

I stood there for a while, taking a few more puffs before stashing the joint into the small tube I kept for roaches and dropping it back into my bag. I couldn’t start the walk without taking a few—not so little—sips of whiskey. 

“Why not start now?”, I thought.

Starting the walk wasn’t difficult. I had already sat in a taxi and come all the way here.  Getting out of bed had been the hard part. It always was. That was the first day in over a week that I’d managed to get out of bed before noon.

Most mornings, my bed felt like the only place where I wasn’t fighting to exist. The idea of getting up, facing the world, and doing something… it was too much. It’s hard to explain to people who’ve never felt it, but sometimes, the thought of standing up is like being asked to climb a mountain—physically and mentally exhausting in ways that don’t make sense. But here I was, doing exactly that.

Aire had sat me down the other day and told me how bad I seemed. Something about having an “aura” or “air of despair” around me now. I didn’t have the energy to tell him anything other than the truth: I was tired. But I didn’t expect him to understand. 

Eli and Kobina would’ve understood immediately, and that was why I didn’t tell them. They knew enough—more than enough. Eli had joked a couple of times about checking up on me in the night, to be sure I was still around. 

But leaving like that in the middle of the night didn’t feel right to me.

I’d discussed it with John one day while we cuddled on the couch in his bedroom. I remembered assuring him I’d tell him my plans to run away later—that it would be the right time. I told him about my issue: the cost of everything. My plans were all expensive; some more than others. It’d felt nice, comfortably talking about leaving everyone behind, and I wondered if he understood that he’d be one of those people left behind.

He told me he wanted to leave too. Something about being scared. I understood. I could relate. If I was going through with this, I knew I wouldn’t be doing it sober. That’s why I was walking up this hill high on weed and a little buzzed on alcohol.

I stopped for a moment. I’d been walking for half an hour and needed a break. A sip of water sounded good. I needed to hydrate with all that was in my system—and all that was about to go in. I reached into my bag, now hanging over one shoulder, and pulled out two bottles: one with water, the other with Coke. I took a sip of water, then a large gulp from the Coke bottle, and another quick sip of water. It would take a little while for the MDMA in the Coke to kick in and, by then, I’d probably be near the top, with other things ready to go in my system.

I was excited. I’d been looking forward to this trip for forever. I still had a couple of hours before sunset, so there was no rush. Watching the sun go down while high on…everything. That was supposed to be the climax. 

Literally.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked the new messages. I’d told myself I wouldn’t do this until I’d reached the top, but here I was. Kobina had just gotten a job offer, and he was excited. We were all happy for him. Aire and Eli had congratulated him, and they’d all had their ‘I love you’ talk. 

I liked missing those conversations. I hadn’t been able to say ‘I love you’ easily in a while. There was a time when I got comfortable saying it, but then I reverted to my factory settings, I guess. 

It was disappointing for Eli and Kobina—having me go cold again after a year of tight hugs and all. I often felt bad about it. It was easier for me to hug other people, but after months of trying to understand, I still didn’t have an explanation that made complete sense to me. I needed something in my system to comfortably hug them, and that thought was a little sad.

John had also sent me a message about how his day was going. I’d asked him earlier when I was getting ready to leave, but didn’t check for his response until now. He was hanging with a friend that day, and for the first time in a while, it didn’t bother me at all. They could be naked and cuddling—something I wanted reserved for me—and it was fine. He was probably never going to see me again anyway. 

I could’ve broken up with him to make it easier. Maybe I should’ve. But that was one of the selfish things I did that I couldn’t regret.

I put my phone back in my pocket, took another sip from the Coke bottle, and continued walking after slipping the bottle back into my bag. I didn’t mind getting high too early. I had enough to ride that wave all day—and then some. 

I’d never had this many drugs before—weed, alcohol, MDMA crystals, five molly pills, a bag of coke, and a packet of ketamine. There were more things I planned to get, but there’s a limit to what you can ask for without people starting to ask questions. I’d told them I was going to a party. Why else would one person be asking for all that at once?

I’d been thinking about so many things that I’d forgotten I didn’t have my headphones on. I grabbed them from around my neck and put them on. I immediately started playing 'Dawn FM'—a fitting album for the occasion.

It wasn’t a very long walk—or maybe I was just too high to feel it the way I normally would. I was close to the top, and I still had plenty of energy. The sober version of me would’ve been done by now. Hell, I would’ve been over it before it even started.

“Time for some energy,” I muttered to myself like I didn’t already have enough energy to finish the walk. I stopped to open my bag again, pulled out the pouch, and retrieved my little bag of coke. I looked around instinctively for people, but there hadn’t been any around for hours. 

I grabbed my backpack with one hand and walked over to a nearby tree. It would’ve been nice to do this trip with the others. Kobina and John would’ve loved a trip like this. The tree helped block the wind, sheltering me and my little bag of coke. I didn’t want to waste it—at least not until the end of the trip.

My parents would die if they knew I was sniffing coke, taking it down my nostrils. It wouldn’t be the first time I disappointed them—and it wouldn’t be the last. I’d come to terms with being the disappointment, whether it was with school, religion, communication, or anything else. With this, I knew rehab would probably be the next step. 

I remember my dad asking me about drugs years ago, ready to ship me off to rehab depending on my response. Lying in those situations always felt like the least stressful option. I didn't want my parents to worry until it was too late—and I wouldn’t have to deal with their worries. 

Yeah, it was selfish of me to think that way, but I was okay with being selfish. It was my life, after all. My lungs, my kidneys, my liver, my heart.

“But you’d call home if you got sick,” I said to myself.

“Yeah,” I responded. “Being selfish.”

By the time I reached the top of the hill, I had taken a few more gulps of whisky and long sips from the Coke bottle. The Coke was nearly half gone, meaning I’d consumed about one molly pill’s worth. I could barely feel anything now, almost floating across the uneven ground. I took a deep breath and looked around. Green everywhere, with a few houses scattered far off. The cool breeze felt nice on my skin.

“You know what would be great right now?” I asked myself. 

“Cuddles,” I answered aloud. I missed John already. Was I going to miss him forever? How long was forever? I had to stop thinking about it. Missing him wouldn’t change anything. I had to leave, and I had no intention of coming back. There was nothing left for me there anymore.  

“You know that’s not true,” I said to myself. “There’s still a lot for you there.”

It wasn’t false. I knew this. But I didn’t want what was left waiting for me if I went back. It wasn’t that I didn’t love it...  

Well, overall, I didn’t.  

Not even a little. I used to joke about not enjoying the human experience—something about having to deal with people.  

That’s why I had to leave. As far away as possible.  

“But as long as there are people...” I thought.

I stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down. I didn’t understand why I, someone with a fear of heights, would do this, but I did. I froze. It was a long drop. Slowly, I bent my knees until I was squatting, then I stretched my legs out and sat on the edge, feet dangling. I sighed, feeling a cold tingle run down my spine. 

I took the rest of the joint out and lit it.  

“How long are we sitting here for?” I asked myself. I already knew the answer. Until the sun started to set. Then I’d stop sitting on the edge. Or stop living on the edge.

“What if this is a mistake?” I whispered under my breath. I immediately laughed. I had been unsure about many things, but this—leaving—was something I’d been sure about more than anything else in my life.

With the drugs hitting me from all directions, I felt…calm. The birds chirped their evening song, and the leaves rustled. It was peaceful. I kicked off my shoes, letting the wind hit my socks so I could feel it. “Fuck the shoes,” I muttered. I had my Crocs in my bag, not that I needed them.

I looked at the sky. The sun was slowly moving—well, more like the Earth was moving, but you get what I mean. For a few seconds, there was nothing. Just silence.

“How long?” I thought. That was the end of the silence for me. I didn’t really understand what I meant, but I answered it anyway… in every way.

It had been forever since I’d felt out of place. I knew it was a common feeling. I’d heard people say it so often that I started to believe no one truly fit in anywhere. But maybe it was just some people who didn’t fit. I didn’t fully understand, but I knew I didn’t care to anymore. The more I knew, the less I wanted to know.

“How long?”

I’d been thinking about this for over a decade. I’d talked about it with people who didn’t feel they fit in either. Some had managed to adapt, somehow. I wished I had the strength—to let society mold me. Others just left… disappeared, and found a better place, whether it was better or worse than here, who could say. But I was curious to find out. Then there were those who left and came back—sometimes against their will. I didn’t want to be one of them. I’d waited too long and spent too much time thinking up this plan to avoid it.

“How long?”

Soon. The sun, now dipping below the horizon, cast long shadows across the green expanse. It almost felt like the world was fading with it. Maybe that was the point. 

I was ready to leave now. I’d finished my whisky and joint by then, and the coke bag was nearly empty. I didn’t mind that I still had drugs in my bag that hadn’t been used. It was better to have more than I needed. I gulped down the rest of the Coke from its bottle, feeling the high intensify. I was higher than I’d ever been.

I sat there, the weight of everything pressing in, but for once, it didn’t matter. The drugs, the distance, the silence—it all swirled together, making sense in a way nothing ever had before. I wasn’t sure if this was the end or just the beginning, but I didn’t care. I was done trying to figure it out.  

I didn’t care about the height anymore, or the distance between where I was and where I needed to be. The sun sank lower, and the world grew quiet around me. I was already gone, even if my body hadn’t fully caught up yet.