By Sal DeWitt
From Los Alamos 

I never knew there was a part of life I was missing until I left Los Alamos.

Maybe it’s a part of becoming an adult, but now I understand what everyone meant

When they talked about it being a 

Sheltered,
Quiet,
Town.

Los Alamos is like a ray of sunshine hidden in a dark alley. Sometimes even unnoticed, but too small to see beyond the walls of the buildings surrounding it. Not able to reveal how dark the world could really get.

I moved to Los Angeles
After rehab,
After the drugs,
After realizing the darkest addiction existed in places people call “perfect.”

And now I find myself regretting the decision.
I regret getting help.
I regret chasing my dreams.
Can you believe that?

I just turned eighteen,
And adulthood already feels like standing in traffic
Waiting for someone to notice you’re there.

Nobody tells you becoming an adult
Is learning how even more invisible you can become.
How expensive survival becomes.
How freedom and isolation are exactly the same.

Back home, everyone knew my name.
Here, I could disappear
And the city would keep moving
Like I was never part of it.

Los Alamos, if you’re reading this,
Please listen to me,
We have dreams bigger than the stars above the mesas,
Bigger than the pride the labbies carry in their posture,
Bigger than the futures already chosen for us before we can choose for ourselves.

Stop sheltering us so much.

Yes, it protects us.
But it also leaves us unprepared for the weight of the real world.

Teach us how to fail.
Teach us it’s okay to ask for help.
Before we need rehab to say it out loud.
Teach us there are lives outside the hill.

I want to chase this dream.
I want to become someone without feeling like I abandoned where I came from.

And it’s not just me,

Others do too.