Picture It And Write It, July 8th, 2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I dare you! Come on, floor it! Put the pedal to the metal! Come on you coward, what are you waiting for! Hit me, run over me!

These sickly thoughts were spinning round and round inside of her head. She wanted to die, and the driver was stalling. Testing her spirit, staying back, causing her legs to feel shaky, she stood her ground.

This was my life back in 2010. I had run away from home when I was 14, and had been living my life on the streets. Every part of my being had been used at the gain of others pleasures. I had been blindfolded and forced to endure the pains of needles and the relentless dreams and nightmares these illegal drugs had brought into my mind, until I had gotten to the point, I could no longer function as a person, without these administrations of drugs.

My father had been the talk of the town, a loser, an alcoholic, and my mother stayed hidden at home, behind closed drapes, hooked on drugs. Children learn from their parents, and I had learned from them that life was worthless.  They didn’t ever notice if I was there or not, so I left.

I wanted someone to care, to love me, to hold me. I was a pretty girl, slender, tall. I had what others wanted.  I spent the first night alone on the street, hidden away by the shadows of the trees behind the school-house.

The second night, I made it into the center of downtown, and was sitting on the steps of one of the businesses, when a group of young women came by me and sat down next to me. After talking for a while, I stood up with them and followed them into my stages of hell.

They took me under their wings and taught me how to dress and wear my make-up. They introduced me to their boss, who then introduced me to the life my mother knew so well. I slept all day and used drugs to stay up all night to endure the pain.

One night when I was out standing on my well-known corner, I was arrested for doing business with an under cover officer. He took me to jail, and as I had no one to call, I had to sit here and wait out my sentence.

While in there, I was able to talk to others, who had been arrested for the same things, and heard their tales and woes. I ended up in the corner of the cell vomiting, as the words I had been hearing, were the words of my life. I wanted to die, I wanted out, but had nowhere to turn. I ended up on the cot, with my eyes closed, but my ears were still honed into the conversations around me.

Two days later, I was released, and walked out into the brightness of day. I knew I didn’t want to go back to my temporary home, and I could not go home. I wandered the streets, stopping at a cafe for some food, and while there, trying to figure my way out of this. The more I thought, the more confused I became.

That night, I walked towards the interstate, and as a few cars passed by, I entered the highway and stood there, waiting to get hit, to kill me, to rid me of my pain. The car did come, but it stopped. I screamed at the car as it continued to keep its headlights centered on my person. Neither of us moved for what seemed like hours.

Another car pulled up and within seconds an officer was standing before me. He placed his arm around me, and I wanted to hit and kick him, but his words reached my aching soul. He spoke of caring, and confusion, and I heard words being spoken that I didn’t really want to take my life.

I was tired and confused and the pain was over bearing, and I found my body turning towards him, and placing my head in his shoulder. I could hear myself sobbing, and I could feel myself shivering.

The officer took me to a shelter, and after filling out the needed paper work, I was placed from there to a help-center, where I lived for the next year.

I don’t know who that officer was, but I wish I could thank him for saving my life. Soon, I would look him up and tell him thank-you in person.

Thank-you Ermilia for another chance to write for you.

http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/