On the way to school one day, way back in 2006, I thought to myself: “If I ever ran away, I would leave clues – friends names that correlate with streets, birthdays as codes on lock boxes with letters about my whereabouts in them- I would not just disappear cold turkey. I would figure out who was dedicated enough to find me.”
Since then I have always had a physical location I can run to when the going gets tough. The last two years I have utilized locations like: my parents house, Lauren’s apartment, Georgia, my grandmother’s house, my mentor’s house, etc. Over the last six months I have desperately attempted to keep myself from going to the places in my head, where I have to relocate myself physically, and I’ve been very successful with it. … Until tonight.
Honestly I didn’t realize I was hiding, or what was really going on at all, until I was sitting in the passenger seat of a truck with the windows rolled down. The smell of cigarettes wafting passed me gently reeling me back down to earth. I wanted so badly to ask for one but knew that if I did, the reality of my state would be illuminated full force.
I don’t want to talk about it. I want to cry. I want to understand what happened… No I don’t. The verbal processor that I am would want to talk about every piece of the night, and pinpoint the exact moment I lost the ability to cope.
I never got to be a kid. I want it back. I do not want to handle my life. I just want to flip the switch and be fine. I was so good at that before i started feeling again.