March 2006

It was four months after he died, he killed himself.  It was the first time I got away from it all, away from town, away from church, away from my parents and my friends. I needed it. But I was broken. I had been dropped and at home I was forced to hold myself together. I was the glue for my friends, my family. I never intended to, but I hid it all. 

Haunted by death and suicide and desertion.  

I sat on the steps at the camp in the mountains and cried. I went to bed at night crying and woke up with swollen eyes. I cried at every meeting and while I worked. 

I was gone for only two days but the emotional exhaustion I suffered was enough to put me in bed for hours on end. I slept and cried and missed camp, and i hated camp.

Home was my bed and thats it. My parents had moved us into a new house while I was gone, a house that wasn’t mine. I just layed in my bed. 

That was the point I knew that I needed help. Something was not right. Something inside me was falling at a rate that no one could catch it and when it dropped I would be shattered. 

 

I was broken

 

I needed to be lifted up

I needed wings

to fly.

rule

The couch is comfortable but I am not.  

I sit, staring at her, she is crying. What did I do? What am I supposed to do?

She says to me that they just wanted to help, that she is sorry that she hasn’t been the best mom, that she doesn’t want me to leave yet. She gets mad.

Haven’t we been through this before, don’t I already know this? Dad said I’ve been gone too much. He gave me the list of rules for when I go. What was he thinking? Rules.  

She said they are just a guide, meant to keep me on track.  When have I been off track that they knew about? I’ll admit that the past two weeks have been different, I started to show the part of me that came undone. Hell, I took my uncle’s car from the driveway and got caught. That is more hilarious than it is revealing. 

I know that it is just my dad clinging. He is clinging on to me with all of his might. He is trying to make up for the time lost by showing that he is still in charge and still in control. 

The thing is that as I sit and stare at her, he is not there. He is at work. He is in another town. He is at church. He is in the next room talking to his brother. He is talking to Roger. He is riding his motorcycle. He is cleaning the house. He is telling me to go and clean my room. Go away. Hurry up and come back. 

I cry. It is what I do now and I hate it. I feel guilty because she hasn’t been a bad mom. I feel guilty for making her cry.  But this is natural right? This is what everyone goes through. 

I am leaving. I am a child. I am old. I am ready. I am anxious. I am lost.  I’m stuck.