No one ever really prepares you for what it's like. Moving away from everyone and starting new, I mean. For 20 years of my life, I spent it in a little small town sh*thole down in Mississippi. Life was hot, humid, and full of judgement. The only person who never threw their judgement onto me was my mother. She was all I had, really. Sure, there was sketchy boyfriend after sketchy boyfriend but, they never EVER lasted long. I made sure of that and if any of them had the audacity to lay a hand on my mother, let's just say it never ended well.
That's how I ended up in juvenile detention at age 12. I didn't serve long but, my time there allowed me to reflect. It was also the first time away from my mother. Call me a momma's boy if you want, I don't care. I'm proud to love my mother but, I'm not proud of the attachment issues I had developed. I had turned 13 and few weeks later when, in juvenile detention, my assigned counselor had suggested I could be suffering from attachment issues which no doubt will lead to depression. He was right. Shortly after, I couldn't bring myself to eat or look at anyone anymore. I was failing in their schooling program and withering away in front of everyone. I missed my mother more than ever. All I wanted to do was go home to the only person who really loved me. The only person I could ever count on.
The next year I found myself hidden in the bathroom with a shaving razor. I had smashed it apart somehow, the tiny blades falling out of the plastic casing. I was at an all time low. They way the harsh fluorescent shined against the sharp metal made me smile slightly. I was truly a sick mind at this point. I grabbed the blade off the dirty tile floor and drug it roughly across my exposed thigh, watching the blood instantly pour out of the fresh wound. I winced at the pain at first but, then I realized it was the first thing I had actually felt since I got to the detention center. It wasn't shortly after that when someone found me in the bathroom weeks later, with my wrists slit open. I was rushed straight to the emergency room and reassigned to a mental hospital.
I spent a third year away from my mother, rotting away in the steril 'hospital'. I refused to make any sort of progress and everyone was beginning to think I was a lost cause. Until my mother visited. Being a single mother was never easy for her.
Working a job and taking care of me at the same time was a struggle. She never had time to actually take care of herself which led her to become addicted to certain drugs. The day my mother finally had enough money to come visit me was the day I had the largest realization of my life. While I was gone, out of her life, she was able to pull herself together. She didn't have anyone else to take care of. She had more time to work. She was doing so much better... without me.
After my mother's visit I pulled myself out of the deep trench I was in. I got better, I followed all the programs, and I even got caught up on all my schooling and somehow, miraculously, skipped two grades ahead and graduated early. I was 17 now and out. I had served my time, gotten the help I so desperately needed but, had no where to go. My mother begged me to come back home, to stay and get a job to help pay bills but, seeing how successful she had been without me made me run from her. I spent a fifth year away from my mother but, the only one keeping me from her was myself. I lived on people's couches, in homeless shelters, or anywhere I could rest my head. I did little odd jobs for cash so I wasn't the typical homeless teenager. Most of the ones I encountered were strung out on drugs and had no ambition to try to get better.
I had turned 19 when I came back home. My mother was in tears, happy tears. I spent about 5 months with her before she had talked me into going to college. "You did so well after I visited, you did better than I ever could.", she told me one night while we were cooking together, making her recipe for spaghetti. "Mom, I don't think any college will accept me.. I mean, look at what I've gotten myself into.. I spent a little over 3 years in juvie and another 2 in a godd*mn mental hospital. Then I was homeless for another 2. It's not the best record. Sure, my grades were pretty decent but..", I trailed off and focused back on the cooking.
"You were homeless because you made that choice. I begged you to come back home.. For some reason you think I'm better off without you." She had stopped her cooking completely and stood there, looking at me. I turned to look at her face, her cheeks getting red with frustration and tears creeping out of her eyes. "But you are.. You were finally able to make money and care for yourself.. You can do all the stuff you wanted to do now that I'm not depending on you. And it just seems like when I'm around.. sh*t goes south. Really fast.", I said, not making eye contact. She didn't say another word. She was either too upset to argue or was too afraid of telling me the truth, telling me I was right.
It was later that night when I had packed a bag of clothes, grabbed my mason jar full of savings, and got on the first bus out of there. I didn't know where I was going or where I would end up. But I just wanted her to be happy, to have a better life. Don't get me wrong, we would still keep in touch but, I knew I could never be there with her ever again. She truly was better off without me. No matter how many time she would beg for me to come home, I just knew it would never work. Sure, her and I could both work and live together but, she would end up going back to her old ways. She would end up quitting her job since I had one. She would fall into the wrong crowd and get back into drugs. She had more will power than I ever will so, it was easy for her to just pick up a habit and drop it when she didn't have a sketchy boyfriend to mooch off of.
I eventually found my way to Portland, Oregon. It was a little too big for me, too much going on and too many people crowding the streets and stores. I did a little bit of hitch hiking and made my way to a small town, Newport, close to the ocean. The smell of the salt in the air, the foggy mornings and a misty weather gave me the peace I had never had. After months of sleeping on someone's couch yet again, I had saved up money to get an apartment and celebrated my 21st birthday there. Sure, all I had was a matress on the floor, one bowl, one spoon, one fork, and an old tv from 1990 sitting on the floor but, it was mine. It was my home, the first place I had ever felt any sort of peace. But I was still alone. I did some dating around town but, no one stayed around long. I had grown a little hopeless and fell back into some old bad habits. Self harm was a nightly thing now but, I was too much of a coward to try and take my own life again. Either that, or I didn't want to give up on the decent life I had made for myself. Scars laced my pale ivory skin, some deeper than others but, never too deep. It had become sort of like an addiction to me, to carve open the skin and watch it heal. I didn't mind the scars. I wasn't embarrased of them but, I never purposely exposed my skin to show them off. The Oregon weather wouldn't allow that.
At some point, while smoking on the brand new couch I had gotten with my most recent paycheck, I thought back to the conversation I had with my mother before I left. 'College.', I thought to myself. I rolled the cigarette around between my index finger and thumb, watching the smoke twist and bend. 'I'm doing better than I once was but, my record still isn't the best. But.. it has been many years since then.. And I have cleaned up my act.. Sort of.', I thought again, my eyes trailing away from the cigarette down to my wrist. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling deeply and slowly letting it all back out as I put my cigarette out. I rose from the couch and headed into my bedroom and grabbed my phone. "How bad can it possibly be? It's just filling out an application and then getting rejected. I know all about that.", I mumbled.
