The drinking and popping pills that began at age 12 continued through the middle teen years and accelerated. Finding my grandfather in the running car where he took his own life tore apart the fragile facade I had managed to piece together to get through the days. I wanted out and I couldn’t get to age 18 fast enough.
Entering high school was anticlimactic. I had little interest in grades and did just enough to get through without failing. I joined the drama group which was a huge step away from the shy, overwhelmed girl I actually was. I was intent on forcing myself out of the prison I had dwelled in for most of my life. I met a girl that was almost as wild as me and skipped classes to go with her and her boyfriend to smoke pot and drink.
It was a tumultuous time, the emergence of the hippie lifestyle, Woodstock, anti-war demonstrations, LSD and Vietnam. It was the perfect time to turn 18, reject anyone who attempted to control me and walk out of my parent’s house. I had just celebrated my birthday a few days ago. We were eating dinner and a difference of opinion between me and my parents turned serious. I remember getting up from the table, going to me room, throwing a few things into a backpack and without a word marching past the dinner table and out the door. I had waited a long time for this and it felt like a new beginning.
Truth was it would be many years before I had any memory of the extent of the evil committed against me throughout childhood. The damage that was done, however, could not be suppressed and walking out of my parent’s house wouldn’t free me from it’s iron grip.
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