Oh my, this post is going to be, I think, rather dark and depressing. It does reflect my state of mind right now.
I remember being in my late teens. It was when I first started walking out of the house and away from my parents. Perhaps age fifteen or so. I needed to get out. To get away. To be free. To walk. Walk, run, escape.
I was still in the early stages of my eating disorder. I didn’t have much awareness of why I did what I did. I didn’t understand, I just did what felt right. Walking was my thing. I walked and walked and walked. It gave me space. Helped me lose weight too.
Walking helped me to clear my head. To breathe. To have space. To have peace in my head. To just be. To imagine another life. I’d most often walk with my dog (RIP Sally). Walk around the old golf course near my house.
Native trees and grasses had been allowed to grow. Horse jumps had been set up for the local pony club gymkhanas. There was a small creek that flowed through it. Surrounded my trees, shrubs, grass. Hidden from the road. A private sanctuary. A calming space to be. Picture perfect. My hidden oasis.
So that first time I walked out of the house, against my mother’s wishes, that was where I went. It was late afternoon. After school. I didn’t take my dog. I just walked out. I walked for a couple of hours until the rage in me had subsided and was replaced by a deep yet unrelenting pain.
I found one of the more comfortable horse jumps and just sat. I sat and cried. I sobbed until there was no more. Then I sang. Just quietly, but sang. A popular (at the time) Avril Lavigne song – I’m With You.
…and I cried some more.
Eventually the sun started to go down. It began to get cold. I shivered but didn’t want to return home to the chaos that awaited me. I sat and stared at the road. Up the hill and around the corner… that’s where my house was. The road up the hill was a dirt one… steep and annoying to walk up, yet so satisfying to get to the top.
From where I sat I could see the roof of my house. I could imagine that arguments going on inside. My mother complaining to my father. Telling him how I’d walked out. That whatever had started this argument was my fault. That I was horrible, rebellious, needed to be punished, taught a lesson.
I wondered if my parents would come looking for me. Drive around to see if they could find me. No one did. I concluded that I just didn’t matter enough. That I wasn’t important. That me having being gone for hours, and it now being dark, just didn’t matter.
That sense of utter unimportance, of insignificance hurt more than anything.
I know that my life is different now. That I am out of that destructive family, yet my current feelings haven’t changed a great deal.
I am back to believing that my presence is of little significance to anybody. That my disappearance would mean nothing if it were even noticed. I don’t know how accurate my current thinking is. I’ve been told I am severely depressed. Logically I know that depression would significantly impair my thinking. However… I do feel that my thinking is accurate and my beliefs are correct.
I do not feel capable of continuing right now. This, however, is not a suicide post and I am currently safe. It’s just that the pain I have inside of me right now is becoming so incredibly overwhelming. No words can describe the level of pain, the hurt, the torment, the self-hatred I have inside of me.
I heard that Avril Lavigne song on the bus today. I’d turned off my ipod as the movie I’d been watching had finished. I’d spent the last thirty minutes on the bus doing my best to keep the tears inside, to not sob hysterically and uncontrollably in front of so many people. That song… that one song, sent more tears sliding down my cheeks.