When I was around 9 or 10 I ran away from home.
I know that this was probably one of the scariest moments of my parents’ lives.
The reason I believe this, is because I left them a note which I think my Dad still keeps in his Bible (he keeps all of his important notes and memorable documents there).
I can’t remember verbatim what I wrote within this note, (I don’t want to ask my Dad if I could read it) but I remember saying along the lines that I was sorry I was a bad daughter and was hoping my parents would be happier without me in their lives.
Fucked up, right?
In hindsight, I believe this act of running away was the earliest example of attempting suicide. I say this because I thought if I disappeared, my parents’ lives would be so much better, and at that age I just didn’t know I could kill myself. The closest thing to that in my mind would have been getting snatched and murdered while running away (I’m not actually sure if those thoughts did cross my mind, but if they did I was probably scared yet felt like I deserved it anyway).
The truth is, is that I believe that if I had known what suicide was, I would have attempted it.
Here’s how I know:
Almost every day my parents and I went for a walk in the late afternoon/early evening. Earlier that day or the day before, my Dad and I had gotten into a bit of a pickle, about what I have no idea. Either way I was angry because I felt like my Dad got way too mad at me, while at the same time upset because I felt like a shitty daughter.
(TIME OUT- This is a constant theme while I was growing up. My Dad and I are now much better at communicating with one another. I will again reiterate that my Dad and I have a great relationship, and we have ALWAYS loved each other, but communication has been majorly worked on through the years.)
I was tired of the arguing, feeling like I was unhappy to go home, and just walking around the house as if the floor was made out of eggshells. I thought my parents felt the same way as I did. In my irrational thinking, I thought my parents loved me, but were getting tired of me.
But overall there was just this sense that they would be BETTER off WITHOUT ME.
So somewhere in my tiny human brain, I decided that I should remove myself from the picture by running away.
That day when my parents asked me if I wanted to go for a walk with them and I said no thanks. They thought it was because I was upset and sulking; I knew it was because I had decided that that was my time to leave. I knew how long the walks usually took so I timed it where they would have been down a couple of roads, and I took the opposite roads to run away as to make sure we wouldn’t have crossed paths.
But before the I left, I wrote my parents a letter, telling them I loved them so much and that I was sorry that I was a disappointment. I remember being apologetic for my downfalls.
If I wrote that same note now, it would be a classified as a suicide note. Reliving the memories now, I know in my heart that running away was my way of saying I didn’t think that I belonged on this world anymore because at that age my family was my world.
Honestly, I can’t remember what my plan was after leaving. I think I was going to try and live with a friend. My tiny human brain was not good at planning things out, it just told me I had to go.
The only other thing I remember was that a off duty officer picked me up and brought me home probably around 2-3 hours later. There was a cop car at my house and I remember my Uncle being the first person to see me. He grabbed me, hugged me and told me never to scare my parents like that ever again.
I remember my Mom and Dad crying and hugging me. I felt confused, because their reactions were so unexpected. I had never thought they would feel that upset that I had left. Sad, yes, but hysterical, no. It was weird cause the pain I felt from my parents didn’t match the indifference my thoughts told me my parent felt towards me. It was almost a shock, receiving that much love from my parents.
And then things were different.
Because of the note.
Because my parents then knew something was *wrong* with me.
But had no idea what?
Our house felt like eggshells more than ever because it was like the smallest thing would send me over the edge again.
My parents reassured me things were okay.
But I could sense they weren’t.
I could sense that they were worried and confused about what had happened.
And I think they blamed themselves, but they weren’t sure what for.
Because they never talked about that day ever again (even to this day).
And then a couple months later my parents told me they were sending me over to New Zealand to stay with my Mom’s side of the family for a bit.
My parents said they had been planning this, and maybe it was just a “coincidence”?
But it felt too perfectly timed.
Like we all needed to “run away” from that day and the underlying mental illness it uncovered.
– Alexis
I'm a Sad Blob 
Leave a comment