I left home at 18. I packed up most of what I owned from my home in small-town Wisconsin and drove over 20 hours to my new home: Montana. I had been to Montana only once before moving out there. I knew I had distant relatives, but that was all had.
I needed to leave Wisconsin. Just weeks before I left for college, my best friend passed away, and it was a shock to my system. The only death I had ever experienced was my grandmother’s when I was eleven, but this felt entirely different. I was old enough to truly feel the weight of raw emotion. Just a month earlier, I’d told him we should catch up soon, and he’d told me not to be a stranger. He was excited for me, happy that I was leaving home to experience something new, and I promised him I’d see him again soon.
On August 7th, he was in a car accident. The days that followed were a blur. I remember sitting on the couch at his family's house with his little brothers, not really knowing what to say or do. His funeral came up quickly, and I was struck by how many people attended his wake. He was a standout kid in our community—an all-star in track, and he’d lettered in football and wrestling. But beyond being an athlete, he was my best friend.
We’d met on the first day of band class, both of us in the percussion section. He seemed so sweet, and as we got to know each other, our friendship blossomed. I miss him every day.
Three days after his funeral, I left for Montana—a place where I knew only my cousin and her boyfriend. I was leaving Wisconsin behind, determined not to turn back. I’d questioned whether I was strong enough to make such a move, especially so far from home and on my own. But deep down, I knew I needed to go.
After two days of driving, I finally arrived. My parents helped me settle into my tiny dorm room before saying their goodbyes. I had met my roommates on Instagram, and we clicked right away, but that initial connection didn’t last. By my second semester, I had moved into a new dorm.
Today, I feel at home. But four years ago, I was lost. I had just lost my best friend, my boyfriend at the time had cheated on me, and I was a nervous wreck. My anxiety was at an all-time high: I was throwing up before class, shaking constantly, and barely able to leave my dorm.
Then I adopted a cat named Osprey. She brought light into my life when I needed it most. I needed something to hold on to, something to keep me going. Once I brought her into my world, everything changed. In that tiny, single dorm room, we became inseparable—best friends in the middle of all the chaos. I needed something to come home to, and she gave me that. Osprey helped me cope with all the mess I was dealing with. Life didn’t seem so bad with her by my side.
When all was said and done, I was glad I left home. I needed my space as much as my parents did. It was time for me to find my true self and figure shit out.
xox,
Rach