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My Journey ...Taking Control

My days of sitting in solitude gazing at the sky asking God to take me away from my home had ended.

I was older and had become wise enough to recognize that no one was coming to rescue me. Life at home was the same, and year after year family came to visit from California and New Mexico always leaving us behind when they left. I was tired of carrying false hope, so at the ripe old age of 15
I made the decision to no longer believe in the God that I knew nothing about. I needed to figure my life out, and I needed to do it on my own. I only had three years left to have a solid plan. I was no longer the little girl that for eleven years sat on the curb saying childlike prayers while never losing hope of  a miracle. I was done hoping and waiting - I needed to take control of my life.

I was in High School now, and although my thoughts were more positive, my focus on school just wasn't there. As much as I loved school I was consumed with thoughts of leaving home. My mind was always on how I would leave at 18.
I had seen my father bring my oldest sister home at gun point. He quit eating and drinking as the days and weeks went by of him not being able to find her. He looked sickly and close to death with barely a whisper as a voice.
I really didn't care if he died, and I'm not saying that in a hateful way. I had just become selfish in my thinking. I was no longer mad or carried hate - I had become pretty numb to feelings. I was so disconnected with all my family members at this point in my life, but I felt some sadness for my mom. She was by his side each day begging him to eat and drink. She looked me in the eyes one day and asked me to run across the street to our neighbor that was a nurse and have her come and check on him. She said, "He's going to die." My mother never asked anyone for anything, so I knew that she really needed this, and for some insane reason she needed him. I didn't understand her need, nor did I care. I just fetched the nurse for her as she asked. Our neighbor highly recommended hospitalization, which naturally he refused. I questioned his desire to die because of my sisters disappearance - there had to be more to all of it, but I wasn't interested in it. I only cared about myself at this point.

I came home from school a few days later and walked quietly towards my father's bedroom stopping close enough to hear my mother begging him to go to the hospital. I heard her say, "What about Carolyn?" I heard his low and gravely voice say, "What about Carolyn? I don't care about her after everything she's done."  I guess my voice had become my demise, but I was okay with that. I had ended all feelings towards him years ago.



Peace, love, & hugs!

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