Summer of 2019, California. I stood outside my own door for the first time, trying to bring myself to knock. My knuckles turned white on both hands. One on the handle to my suitcase and the other fisted and hovering over the door... stagnant. Why did I think this was a good idea? I was running away from my life and my problems and that was all good and well. Until of course when I had to find out where I was running to. Unltil I have to stop and hope my problems don't just come with me. So what if I knock, what if I enter.... Then what? I don't know... I can't possibly know because I'd have to knock and find out. Now that shit's terrifying.