I was eight years old the first time I thought about running away. I remember it clearly, sitting in my very first room, with a small electric heater running to keep the cold out. My mom didn’t pay the gas bill, we didn’t have heat, and I thought there has to be something better then this. My brother was just six, and had crawled into my bed that night to keep warm. I think if he hadn’t been there, I would have taken the few things I cared about and crawled out my first bedroom window. I didn’t have a destination in mind, just that there had to be a place that was warm inside and out. A home that was loving, and kind. A place that I would never have to worry about anything. I saw my brother there next to me, and wondered how he would survive without my support, I was always looking out for him. So I told myself, I could hold out a little longer, and I did.
I was thirteen when I tried to escape again. Only this time, it was my mortal existence. I took what pills I could find in the medicine cabinet, and hoped it would end the hole in myself. It made everything worst. I ended up in the hospital and then in therapy, and then everyone knew how broken I was. I think that was the worst, how everyone was so disappointed, and angry. It made me hate myself more. I hated the attention, no one could understand that I just wanted to be gone. My mother was the worst, and she made it so much harder on me. She hated that I had made things difficult for her. I knew what to do. In the end, I did everything the doctors, nurses, and therapists ask of me. I was a model patient. I acted better, and flew under the radar, it helped. I was deemed fit to return to society.
When I was fifteen, I couldn’t take it anymore, it was becoming to much again. I tried to stay for my brother, but I wasn’t strong enough. So I made the decision to move in with my grandmother. Even though it wasn’t as gone as I would like to be. It was better, I was somewhat happier, but I still entertained the thought of a place that was made just for me. I lived with my grandmother until I finished high school, and then after I left I was free. I would continue to run, place to place, but I have yet to find what I am looking for. I thought I had found it once, but it could have just been in my dreams. If I could sprout wings, I think I could fine that place better, if only.