Really, it's like this. When I was a teen and living at home after I got kicked out of college (too much sex, drugs and rock n roll), my parents decided to throw me out because I was a 'bad influence' on my siblings. (My brother told me recently he had no idea where I had disappeared to until about five years ago.) I was just gone, poof. I stood in my bedroom and threw my clothes out the window. I had been given a half hour to vacant. My boyfriend came over in his bug and loaded me up. We couch surfed until we found a squat where we stayed for a few months. There were padlocks on the doors. We moved to Boston so I could go to art school and we got minimum wage jobs. I worked in a health food store and I would steal food and honey out under my cape. I couldn't afford to pay tuition so I split for the West Coast (but that's another story).
So I'm never really safe. I'm still that sad girl without a family or stable housing. No matter that I have friends and children and a job I love, there is this belief that it could all go poof again. Selling my house, buying another one, freaks my shit out.
4 comments:
You know what? I don't think any of us ever gets over the things that happened when we were children. It's like having polio as a child. You may have recovered but damn- there is going to be residual damage and that's all there is to it. We learn to walk with our limps. We learn to live with our fears. Sort of.
My heart hurts reading this. What is it that makes parents close their doors on their children?
I love you.
ps. after being thrown out homelessness has been one of my biggest fears it has never left not ever not ever ever and it's more than residual damage it's top shelf terror. moving increases that fear moving and the idea of moving.
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