My 18th birthday is in 16 days and I plan to celebrate the occasion by running away from home. Since I will be entering adulthood I don’t know if this is an appropriate theme -- “running away”. Sounds almost childish in a way; strung along with the imagery of a red polka dot knap sack tied to a stick. As well as “home” I don’t know if that’s a fitting title either. Since my home abandoned me 21 months and 14 days ago. I was barely 16 at that time. My life was beginning to emerge from the slums, and I was enrolled in college; a girl like me with so little time underneath my feet. I had no idea that my feet would be something I relied on so much. They were there for me, they were my guide. My feet had taken me to a home where I found a note on my bedroom door. All in uppercase writing, I read an accusation and an order -- untidily and angrily scrawled. Obediently, I did what my mother’s note had ordered and I began to pack my things into 2 plastic storage bins. Firstly packed were school related items. Next came toiletries (tampons, deodorant, mascara). Lastly packed was the little clothing I did own, leaving behind a dress from Spain given to me by a new friend. I had no money and I planned on dragging the bins around with me until I could find a place to stay, but I was lucky enough to run into a friend. He gave me a dollar, a hug and the phone number of someone I could stay with. This all happened before public transit went to shit, and I had almost caught my breath from the weight of the bins before the bus came.
I took the front seat next to a young looking woman. It was an 80 degree and day I barely enough energy left from lugging the bins around to answer her when she asked what I was carrying with me. All I had to tell her was that I got kicked out. She slunk out of her seat like she had encountered a disease.
But that was a long time ago. Now I belong to a new home.
This new home of mine is an estrogen filled minefield. I do not love my home, but I have more respect and feelings of gratefulness for it than words on this earth. These walls keep me safe. Physically. They keep me sound. My bed lies where an arcade basketball game used to, and my walls are painted green with the envy I have for the biological family surrounding me.
As happy as I am to have this home, such an amazing friend, and such an amazing family to take me in and give me a new life... I feel as if I am made of guilt. I’ve taken care of myself my whole life and don’t find any truth in the right of having a childhood at this point. Why should these people have to take care of me? These feeling of guilt have led to shame. I feel it growing with every bite of food consumed under their dollar. Every pair of socks. Every Christmas gift. Every sensation of warmth and love sent my way. I’m not good at expressing my emotions through body language. These people will never know how much love, respect and admiration I have for their hearts.
It’s my senior year and I’m supposed to graduate in spring then leave for college in fall like every other Jane Doe my age. As a relief to their burden I am abandoning them.
I took the front seat next to a young looking woman. It was an 80 degree and day I barely enough energy left from lugging the bins around to answer her when she asked what I was carrying with me. All I had to tell her was that I got kicked out. She slunk out of her seat like she had encountered a disease.
But that was a long time ago. Now I belong to a new home.
This new home of mine is an estrogen filled minefield. I do not love my home, but I have more respect and feelings of gratefulness for it than words on this earth. These walls keep me safe. Physically. They keep me sound. My bed lies where an arcade basketball game used to, and my walls are painted green with the envy I have for the biological family surrounding me.
As happy as I am to have this home, such an amazing friend, and such an amazing family to take me in and give me a new life... I feel as if I am made of guilt. I’ve taken care of myself my whole life and don’t find any truth in the right of having a childhood at this point. Why should these people have to take care of me? These feeling of guilt have led to shame. I feel it growing with every bite of food consumed under their dollar. Every pair of socks. Every Christmas gift. Every sensation of warmth and love sent my way. I’m not good at expressing my emotions through body language. These people will never know how much love, respect and admiration I have for their hearts.
It’s my senior year and I’m supposed to graduate in spring then leave for college in fall like every other Jane Doe my age. As a relief to their burden I am abandoning them.
The post was edited 1 time, last by Shelbicycle ().