Their rules were to confirm me into this individual I didn’t even know, into a boxed life I didn’t want. They didn’t know me though. I hid in my room for two weeks, battling my anxiety and depression. My mother thought I was sick.
Eventually, I left. Literally, I grabbed my most necessary belongings and walked to work. The night before, my parents ” put their finger down” again, and I knew I was going to kill myself… If I didn’t leave. At that point, I was fighting urges to go get a big carving knife from the kitchen. Maybe then, they’d stop their bullshit and actually listen, I thought.
My days of freedom began about May 2005. There was so much I needed to do. There was so much of life I needed to catch up on. I wasn’t prepared to do life on my own, but I knew if I could handle my childhood trauma, I could handle anything.
Since then, I’ve been married twice, divorced once. My apartment was illegally swiped clean of my belongings while I was out of town. I did graduate from a State College with a PreK teaching license. I have had several cars, lots of mistakes, debt piling up, and not much of myself to feel proud. (Still!)
In the Fall of 2012, I married a second time. It was another instance where I should’ve planned life alittle better… But, I was in pain. I just wanted to feel good at all. That comfort was in the arms of a man.. Or so I thought. I was also pregnant at that time. I didn’t do well organizing life, that’s for certain. These were my choices, though. Since 2005, my parents didn’t have the influence over me. They weren’t any longer apart of my life.
Married life was ok. He worked and I stayed home with our daughter. I was too dependant on him. I didn’t cook. I wasn’t working. I didn’t drive anywhere. I hadn’t any money of my own. We were doomed.
It wasn’t until 2014, and after a tragic loss of my husband, that I really began to work on myself. I had no choice but to keep moving, doing, and raising my, then, 18 month old. His suicide was his choice. It through me into all kinds of emotions.