Chasing Myself – Thoughts From a Departure Lounge

From the blog series: Life After the Label | Stories They Don’t Print 

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I’m sitting in a departure lounge, passport in hand, staring at a boarding gate to a foreign land. On paper, I’m travelling. Going abroad. Taking a break. Starting again, but that’s not what this feels like to me. 

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This feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, not knowing if the parachute strapped to my back will open. This feels like grief. This feels like fear. This feels like guilt I shouldn’t have but do. 

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Because even though I was wrongfully convicted, the feeling of guilt does exist, not because I did anything wrong. But because enough people believe I did. 

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And that belief, from the public, the press, the silence of former friends, makes you carry a weight you didn’t ask for. You begin to internalise it. You wonder if you’re even allowed to feel excited. Or hopeful. Or free. So no, I’m not running away. But I can’t pretend I don’t worry people will see it that way.  

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But it’s the opposite. I’m not running away. I’m running toward something. Hope.  

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I’m heading to meet up with my best friend, one of the people who has stayed by my side through it all. Someone who understands the full story, the context, the truth that never made the papers. It matters who you choose to share your space with when your trust has been shattered. For me, this person is that space. 

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And still, fear is the loudest thing in my head right now. Not excitement. Not hope. Fear.  

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Fear that immigration will turn me away. That something, somewhere in a system will flag a notice, a green light blinking in some unseen database and I’ll be denied entry. Even with a visa in place. Even after checking and double-checking, because the truth is, once your name is in that system, you never really know. 

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I am travelling within the rules. I’ve done everything right. But the fear doesn’t care about that. It sits in your chest and whispers: “What if?” 

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I think behind that fear, is something bigger, grief. Grief for my old life. Grief for the man I used to be. Grief for the man who had confidence, who didn’t second guess every laugh, every question, every glance from a stranger. I’m grieving someone I barely remember.  

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And I guess… I’m hoping this journey helps me find parts of him again. 

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I don’t expect to come back fixed. But maybe I’ll come back more me than I am right now. 

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And if you’re reading this, whether you’re someone with lived experience, or someone who cares for someone who’s been through the system. I want you to know that this mixture of feelings is real. You’re not weak for being scared. You’re not selfish for hoping. And you’re not alone! 

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Writing this, I’m also speaking to my family. I know this hasn’t been easy on you. I know this trip might feel uncertain. But I want you to know that I’m not running. I’m trying to reset. I couldn’t do this without you, maybe one day I will find words to express how thankful I am for you all.  

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The plane’s boarding soon. I don’t know what happens next. But I’m doing it anyway. 

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It’s a start. Right?  

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Mark
Next Chapter Scotland
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