This was a post that was started last night.
I am having a hard time sleeping still. I thought that when I ripped the bandaid off that maybe the sleep would find it’s way back. Not being able to sleep could also be a product of the very thing that I did.
I don’t want any alarm bells to go off in anyone’s head because of this entry. So… to continue.
I’m thirty years old and I know what it’s like to be tired of watching the days pass. At 17 years old, I walked down the two-lane highway to my friends house. I remember telling my friends mom that I couldn’t do it anymore. I was tired at 17 years old.
I was too scared to tell Jack A. (his pseudo name and everyone else’s will stay as such) that I wanted to move out. I had no where to go. My friends mom tried to get me to think and I remember us calling my grandparents. They lived in Lewisville by the lake.
In my first entry, I spoke of a sanctuary. These were the same grandparents. We worked out a possible solution. I don’t know if I ever truly got up the courage to go back home. But I did. I don’t remember walking or if my friend and her mom drove me home. I walked through the front yard. The property was on an acre. Over half of it was the ‘front yard’. Jack A. was spray painting this old truck that he had acquired. I walked past him and into the house. Sat down at the kitchen table and told my mother that I wanted to move out.
She said: “Okay but you’re telling your dad.” I took a deep breath, walked outside, and told him I wanted to move out.
First words out of his mouth was “Where are you gonna go?”
I got roped into moving in with family friends. I was a live in baby sitter and house keeper for my mothers best-friend, her husband, and four kids. I got a job working with my mother at K-Mart in Sherman, Texas. I worked with my mother got the silent treatment from my step-father and had very little free time because I was always with the four children.
I no longer had my step-father standing over my shoulder telling me what to do every second of every day. Sadly, I was lost. After a few months of the silent treatment, the depressing job where my mother watched everything I did I made a decision to try to disappear. I took off with a friend to El Paso. My step-father tracked me down and coerced me to come back home.
I didn’t tell the people that I lived with that I was leaving and just disappeared around bedtime. I know that it was wrong to do it the way that I did and I put a lot of stress on them. But I had been broken.
The day that Jack A. found me in El Paso, I had gone out to eat at a restaurant with my friend and we had gotten back. His mom told me the second that we walked in the door that she needed to talk to us and that we needed to sit down. She began to tell me about the conversation she had on the phone with my stepfather. He told her that if I didn’t come home, he would come after me. I was terrified. I was told by Cierra (my friends mother) that I was supposed to call him back to let him know my decision. When I did, he put Suzie on the phone and told her to ask:
“Why did you leave? Was it my fault?”
The part that terrified me was that if he did come after me, I would be stuck in a car for nine hours and fifty-two minutes with a countless number of miles with nothing and no one. I knew that if he came to get me, I would never make it back to my hometown. So I said I would come home.
My mother and stepfather purchased a bus ticket for me. The next day, I was on it and headed back to live under their roof. I wasn’t aloud to leave the house. I wasn’t seen in public. I was made to stay in my room. I wasn’t aloud to go to the kitchen when/if meals were made. They made me wait until they were done eating before they brought me food or something to drink. I didn’t last more than a couple of months before I begged my mother’s parents to let me move in to go to college since my ‘parents’ weren’t allowing me to do anything, go anywhere, or allowing me to function.
It was the pinnacle of my tiredness.
For the last several weeks, I have had a very difficult time sleeping. I have been contemplating this email since the very first day that this blog was started. I’ve been absent for some time so I’m not sure how many will read this entry, but I hope that all do.
My real name is Mary Dewitt. I grew up in Texas. I consider my hometown to be Whitesboro but lived in several places around DFW throughout my life. I’ve had this long and drawn out entry planned but I think this is all that’s needed.
My story is in no way complete and I have more to write about.