I’m running down the street. I ran away from something. Pain? Betrayal? Hurt. Lost. Unwanted. Unloved. Tortured. Hated. Disregarded. Unneeded.
I didn’t want to return to the place I’ve lived my entire life. What was that place anyway? I never called it ‘home’…it never felt like one anyways. It was just a place I came back to at the end of the day to sleep…to get yelled at…to get lectured, laughed at, lashed at, lunged at. It was just a place I came back to because…I never had a choice.
It wasn’t ‘home’. I never knew where ‘home’ was. The closest I’ve gotten to that “safe place” people describe their homes to be would be my spot behind the camera, my seat behind the screen, outdoors by myself, somewhere I can just be ME. It’s not my house. It’s not with my parents. It’s not with my friends. It’s not.
I was running down the street. I ran away; thoughts rumbling through my mind, their words causing hurt and pain to bottle up in my chest, legs weakening and heart racing.
When I come to a halt, I’m panting. My legs have given up. My chest hurts. My heart is racing. My head is spinning. I’m going in and out of consciousness. Everything just seems a little too much for me today.
Usually I can take it. Anything thrown at me, I would usually just take it and be okay. I know I’m strong. I know I can. Just today, that day, I was on edge. I was tired, of everything.
I finally got my head to stop spinning as a piece of paper floated towards me. Something about it caught my eye. The white glistened in the sun. It somehow was sparkling. It was pure white. Stunning. I had to pick it up. As I unfolded it, I read: Everything is going to be okay. You’ll make it through.
And then…everything seemed to change in my mind.