I moved around a lot when I was younger and being bounced between parents, but one move was my decision: Chicago, to University.

I'd been living in an extremely small, very conservative, town for most of my life. I had already earned an... interesting... reputation for being both an atheist and a liberal. The reputation was probably more that I was vocal, as sometime during my Sophomore year I found my voice, and I was no longer the quiet kid in class. That didn't have a lot of impact on me from students or teachers that I can tell, but I got some friction from others in the community. Not as much as I could have, because I'm generally a polite person. I didn't have a lot of friends in school, just a very small handful. However, I've been told in the years since by two former teachers that the other students "respected" me. Not something I really comprehend, and probably irrelevant to the story. They "respected" me because I was always brutally honest throughout school, I never lied, I never backed down from my opinion, and I never treated anyone unfairly.

But... I did lie. I lied about something very big. The fact that I'm gay.

For years, Chicago became a sort of promised land for me. I'm not stereotypical or flamboyant, and no one picked up on the fact that I'm gay - no one even suspected (with the exception of my Business teacher, but she had a unique opportunity to figure out my behavior over four years of classes). I wanted to be able to love someone, and not be afraid of the community, or far more importantly: them.

So I focused on Chicago. Almost always with a great sense of ambition and hope. Sometimes it scared me, and I referred to it as a "Leviathan" in my book. But I wanted it. I wanted to be in a place where I could love someone and not be ashamed of it.

I was already in love, though. I met someone my Junior year who completely entranced me. Talking to him made me feel good, it made me feel warm. I had one class every morning (PE), and it was all I looked forward to.

Eventually that started to hurt me. Previous experiences told me that I could never trust anyone. And so, around the start of my Senior year, I started thinking about all the bad things that could happen. I wanted to tell him badly, but I was so scared that he'd hate me that I found suicide to be the better option.

Sometimes there were good fantasies, though. I dreamed of Chicago, and getting to take him there. He's a Bears fan, and I wanted to take him to a game at Soldier Field. I thought I'd find it terribly boring, but I wanted him to have fun. I started to want Chicago in a different way.

I wanted to use Chicago as a metamorphosis. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, and I wanted to take him there, but I also wanted to get far away from him. I knew he was straight, and you can't change someone's sexuality. A deeper, more ashamed, part of me, wanted to tell him and then disappear completely from his life. I figured he'd hate me, and I didn't want to inconvenience him by existing.

So at the end of my Senior year, I organized a trip for 29 people, mostly Accounting III students (seniors and juniors). My friend was the only Sophomore to go, and he and I went alone for the day in Chicago. I picked him up at 4 in the morning, and we took the train up - 250 miles North.

It was one of the best days in my life.

It hadn't been long since the divorce, and I'd never shut down from it. I don't relax, ever. I'm always thinking ahead, trying to understand everything and everyone around me. But when I was in Chicago, with Him, I didn't do any of that.

That night, when we got back, I told him.

And it didn't go too badly. He said it felt like his heart had stopped. But, he's still my friend. We're distant, though that's probably more my fault than his. I still don't understand why he doesn't hate me, and that makes me avoid talking to him on the assumption that he does, and that I bother him.

The following August, I moved to Chicago. I liked it, but... It wasn't the same.

I didn't have the urge to develop any friendships, and I was Alone.

During the first Semester, I made various attempts to talk to my roommates, but found I didn't like them much. I detest drugs, and they smoked - a lot - (what college kids don't, I guess?). I don't drink, for fear of losing control of my mouth, so I didn't socialize. I don't like socializing with new people, because they terrify me.

And so, for the first semester, I reverted to the person I was just after the divorce. I was quiet, fearful, and ashamed for existing.

And then New Years came, and somehow I'd made another fantasy happen. I'd returned home for Christmas, but on December 28th, my Friend and I got on a train and headed to Chicago once again. Except this time it was for an entire week. We spent a week together, and that was never something I'd imagined. On New Years Eve, we went to the Lincoln Park Zoo around 10PM to see the lights, and it was beautiful. Then we made our way (quite coldly) to Navy Pier.

That night is when he started to suggest subtly that I should come out. A few people knew, but it was a secret. He'd already told me that I was his biggest secret (a fact I both relished and felt guilty for). But he repeated something he'd said before: people should just be who they are, and not try to pretend to be something they're not. We watched the fireworks, and then went back to my place.

As we were waiting around on the last day, we had a similar conversation. At the end of it, I rejoined Facebook (I'd been off of the site for months) and came out. It was an extremely odd feeling. I'd spent 19 years keeping it a secret, acting a role that I'd acted so well that I suddenly didn't know who I was anymore. I thought it would be an opportunity for me to discover myself and find out what sort of person I am.

But, I dropped my friend off at his home, and we hugged goodbye. I returned to Chicago a few days later and found it stained.

It wasn't the city that had made me feel that way, it was him. I'd ruined my promised land by soaking it with memories. Every step had a conversation, a small. I couldn't go into 7/11 for a week. While he was there, every morning I'd go and get hot chocolate (he doesn't like coffee) for us before he even woke up (easy, since I'm an early riser). I couldn't go anywhere on campus or in my city and not be stricken by my stupidly potent memories.

I felt hollow, and I recessed once again. I didn't speak to anyone. I'd go weeks without uttering a syllable, only ever speaking briefly in classes and in counseling.

School ended, and even with all that my friend has done to convince me that he does want to keep me as a friend in spite of my feelings for him, I have trouble understanding why he doesn't hate me. So, instead of going home for the summer, I tried to get summer classes. Trouble with the University's accounting office granted me an additional $4,000 worth of debt, summer housing, but no summer classes. At the same time, I got extremely ill. Pain struck me all over the torso, and I'd vomit up everything until I began to vomit bile.

I had no friends, and I had no one to help me. So one day as I thought my appendix was rupturing, I walked the two miles to the hospital. Nothing was wrong with me, they did yet another $4000 worth of tests. They asked, "Have you been under an unusual amount of stress lately?" I didn't think I had.

And so, I was forced to return to the little town I worked so hard to get out of. And here I am, forced to take a year off from school. At times I'm ashamed of just existing. I avoid driving around any time that I may pass him on the road. I don't know why, but that's how it is.

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The question was "What has moving to a new place done for you?" And I'm not sure I provided a really good answer with that story. I moved to Chicago, and it showed me, basically, that the place you're at isn't the whole story. The place you're in is far less important than the people you're with. I wouldn't take back those trips, but I'm not sure I'd do them the same way.