The Longest Way Home

There was no precise moment where I can look back and say, "At this point, I knew where I was going with my life." But the change did start happening right after turning 17.

I noticed what a mess my family was, how none of us had the ability to listen to one another. My father was a hypocrite and this rubbed off onto his sons. I would waste my time after finishing school, coming up with reasons why I wouldn't be home at the time any other child my age would be at home.

I suppose one can only take so much until they reach a boiling point, their mind overloads and the only way to deal with this build up is to climb up somewhere extremely high and scream your lungs out, or run away. I did both.

Before finishing the last two years of high school I decided to leave.

I spent two weeks planning what to do. I saved money, I packed, I gathered all the supplies I thought I would need and then figured out where to go. Where the hell would I go? I had no idea.

The night before I left, I packed all my things and put them in a black rubbish back and left it on the street in front of my house. I would then pick it up the following morning, on my way to school, and that way I could get out the house unnoticed.

I spent almost six days traveling on foot and by bus.