Ever since I can remember, I’ve had this pathological compulsion for avoidance and escapism. I remember being a young school kid staring out of the bus window on the long freezing cold journeys to school in the winter, blasting “Muse – Newborn” from my CD Walkman, imagining that I was escaping, running away to never return. I hoped that the bus would just keep driving and take me further and further away from the home I grew up in, to a place where I could feel what home is supposed to feel like, to a place where I could finally feel safe. I let my brain fantasise about escaping from the reality of my existence whilst on the bus because running away, in my reality, wasn’t an option.

Today, I love to stare at the stars in the night sky, I’ve spent many a night leaning out of my windows gazing up at the stars letting my brain get carried away by its fantasies of escaping, and tonight was no different. The moon caught my eye, it is a third-quarter moon. The terminator casts an almost perfect line of shadow right down its centre, dividing the moon into two halves, one dark half, and one light half.

When I gaze up at the moon, I always imagine myself standing there, looking back at the Earth. I’m wearing a spacesuit, feeling the powdery moon dust under my feet, and I leave footprints behind as I move. I look at them and remember Neil Armstrong which makes me smile, someone was here before but not now. I take a moment before looking up at the Earth because I know the beauty I’m about to witness, and I need to compose myself — I’m about to see the Earth while standing on the moon.

Up here, not only is there beauty, but there’s also freedom — no one expects you to do anything on Earth when you’re on the moon. You’re not just out of the country, you’re out of the planet. My problems — taxes, bills, war, crime, politics, hatred — they’re all so far away. From this distance, everything is just so peaceful and silent.

There are no cries of pain, no overwhelming stimulation — just me and the hissing of my oxygen in my spacesuit, staring back at the beautiful blue world we call home, floating in a sea of stars.

In these daydreams, or escapes and avoidances, my son always adventures with me, the only responsibility I’ve never wanted or needed to run away from, is my son.

The more time that passes that I stand on the moon, so far from the chaos of Earth, I know I’d begin to long for home. The silence, though peaceful, would become too quiet. I would find myself longing for the sound of rain and seeing raindrops run down my window, the rustle of trees in the wind while watching wood pigeons fly from branch to branch. Hearing the cars go over the bridge near my house, with the fast river flowing beneath. Out here, I’ve escaped the noise and the demands, but I’ve also left behind the little things that make life feel full. The farther I run, the more I realise I can’t escape the parts of Earth that I love, even if I want to escape the rest. I thank the moon for the little respite it gave me, return to Earth, and land staring back up at the moon leaning out of my window in my home.

I find myself escaping to the moon a lot these days, the need for escape and avoidance has been building with every day that passes. The weight of everything lately has been too much to bear, I am suffering pretty badly with depression, and I often find myself longing for the weightlessness of space, both physically, and metaphorically. This need for escape can be taken to extremes, it’s not just about daydreaming about being on the moon, but the urge to carry it out can lead to isolation, total abandonment of things I love, and numerous other consequences. After all, if I am actually on the moon, no one would expect me to be able to build a castle on Earth.

Leaving Earth

There are many kinds of escape, some feel like a dream, others are necessary for survival. At times, life becomes too overwhelming, like Shepard in Mass Effect 3 when the Reapers arrive unexpectedly. Shepard has no choice but to retreat, to leave Earth behind for a while, not out of defeat, but to gather strength and resources to return stronger.

In a similar way, I sometimes find myself needing to retreat — not because I want to abandon everything, but because the weight of pretending I’m more able than I am, of masking my disabilities and mental health challenges, grows too heavy. Like Shepard, I need that space to regroup, to push back against the pressures that threaten to take over. While I may not have the power to destroy my Reapers, I can always come back with the strength to face them again, and that’s enough.

In those moments when I retreat — when I leave social media, go quiet, and just allow myself to exist without pretending — I find myself reconnecting with the Earth. My feet metaphorically touch the grass again instead of moon dust, and I start to feel that sense of grounding I’ve missed. It’s during these times that I reconnect with my creativity, my love of nature, and the parts of myself that get lost in the constant need to keep going.

This isn’t just an escape — it’s a return to who I am when I’m not weighed down by expectations or masking. It’s like coming back to Earth after floating away to the moon in space, with the strength to keep going.

But sometimes, no matter how much I try to retreat and reconnect, the Reapers still gain strength. They attack faster than I can push them back, and I find myself overwhelmed. It’s in those moments that my escape becomes more extreme — the kind where I imagine myself standing on the moon, looking back at Earth, completely removed from everything, the kind where I feel that pathological compulsion to just leave.

Up there, I’m far from the noise and the pressures, where the weight of expectations can’t reach me. The Earth becomes something I gaze at from a distance, beautiful and untouchable, as I try to find my peace. But I know this kind of escape isn’t sustainable forever, and eventually, I’ll need to return.

While disappearing to the moon can feel like a necessary escape when the Reapers take over, it’s not a lasting solution. What’s really helping me now is finding ways to reconnect, like being myself on my blog or social media, where I can find strength through expression, creativity and making friends. It’s also helping me to break down my castle building plans into smaller easier steps – a brick at a time. It’s a reminder that, even in the chaos, there are spaces that bring me back to myself and steps I can manage. And, with the help of every space companion I can muster, I’m learning to balance both types of retreat.

Re-entry

“It’s so much easier to see the world in black & white. Gray? I don’t know what to do with gray.” -Garrus Vakarian

Like the moon tonight, my escapism and avoidance appear in two halves: a lighter side and a darker one. But maybe, just maybe, there’s room for some grey. It’s about finding the balance — knowing when to retreat to gather strength and when to stay grounded and push back against the things that weigh me down.

I’m also self-aware enough to recognise that what I’m really running from is myself. I’m as claustrophobic on the moon in a space suit as I am in my own skin on Earth. But that’s part of the journey — learning to find peace with both the light and the dark, and with the spaces in between.