I'd been known to be impulsive. When I'm in a certain mindset, I just act without thinking much on it, sometimes without thinking at all. And this time was much like before. Just as impulsive, but I had a reason to be. I had never been so mad at him before. My father had hurt me too many times to count. He had always been very careful. You see, he's not the encouraging type. He pushed. And I pushed back. He never pushed too much; he was too afraid I'd be impulsive and do just what I did. I ran away.
No thought of where I'd get money, what I'd eat, where I'd lay my head at night. I just packed a few belongings and left. The things I brought I ended up pawning, all but a picture of my mom. How it must've broken her heart when I left, but I couldn't worry about that now. I was in survival mode.
I never before pictured myself as being homeless. But here I was, waiting under an overpass, waiting for the rain to stop pouring down. They were probably looking for me right now, but I didn't care.
The rain kept at it, and it was a while before it would stop. So there I sat, waiting, watching the cars pass by overhead, thinking how worried or upset they'd be if the bolts loosed themselves and I was crushed under the weight of it all. This was how I thought, morbid and self-pitying. I took my mom's picture out of my backpack. Her smiling face looked back at me. So did my father's. I impulsively took the picture out of the frame and ripped it in half, tearing him out of the picture and throwing it aside so that all that was left was a happy family, me and my mom.
No one saw me, and those who did passed unacknowledging. Just another teen runaway. What does she have to be depressed about? I put the picture back in my backpack, and deciding the rain wasn't stopping any time soon, I went on. I didn't want them to find me. And I kept going, until I reached the state line. I couldn't risk a glance back. I was leaving everything I ever knew behind me. I was throwing my childhood memories away. One glance back would stop me. Bind me to this place, and I'd never be able to leave. So I walked, keeping no track of what direction I was going. I was following my feet, whichever way they decided to go.
This would all be over soon. I'd be happy. I'd build friendships. I could start over. I didn't have to deal with my past haunting me anymore. So I thought, at least. No matter what I did, where I went, my mind was drawn back to my mother. Did she even miss me? Was she crying over me, or has she disowned me?
Everything I'd ever cared about - my mother, my first love, my pets - I'd left behind with no concern for their feelings - or mine. I knew I'd miss them, but I didn't belong in that world. But was this the life I wanted to live? Trading arguments for homelessness? I had a good life, and I'd thrown it all away. I broke down and cried. I couldn't go back now. They'd never let me hear the end of it. And I didn't want to imagine how angry he would be. I wished I were never born. It'd save everyone the trouble of dealing with me. My mother would get over it, and my friends had probably forgotten me. I was alone, and no one loved me anymore. I left that behind.
I'd been known to be impulsive. It was this that led me here. It was this that led me back. He was angry. So I avoided him, built my own life. I just did it without him in it. And I realized I never needed to run away. It wasn't the answer to my problems. There were people who loved me, and they were all here. They had loved me all along; I just never opened my eyes to see it.
Call it whatever you want - luck, karma - but I know it was more than that that opened my eyes to the truth. Someone was watching over me. And my life has been forever changed.