When I was sent to Kinsman Hall, it had been a year since I had lived at home. That year had been a long, hard year of learning how to exist on the streets. That year had been the equivalent of a decade or more in anyone else’s life and at the tender age of 15, learning survival techniques wasn't what most 15 year olds were doing. I bypassed giggling with friends about boys and dreaming about going to the prom and moved into wondering when and where I would eat my next meal. That year aged me, yet that aging process did not bring any real resolution to my problems. That year created a pseudo wisdom that was masked by a toughness that shouted loudly “I will survive!” I had to survive or die!
Somehow I always believed that inner voice and clung to it even when everything else indicated I should give it the heave ho and run for my life. That year made me realize just how dysfunctional my family really was and I knew I couldn't go home to Bangor. Going home would be signing my own death certificate. If a change in my life occurred, the change had to come from within. So as I embarked on a journey whose destination was hazy, at best, I felt a sense of relief that I had no contact with my family. For once, I could just be. I could just breathe. I could just exist.
About a year before I first ran away from home, my mother had finally had gotten a long-needed divorce. She was single again and exploring the dating scene. Although her social life didn't really interest me, I had noticed that there was one man she dated more than anyone else. His name was Bill. He didn't live locally, so she only saw him when he came into town on business. I had met Bill and he seemed to be totally unlike my biological father, so I took that as meaning he was probably a positive aspect in my mother's life and would make her happy. After years of living with my father, she certainly was long overdue for finding some real happiness and stability. I knew my mother was clueless where I was concerned and didn't know how to help me. She was left at the mercy of listening to her well-meaning friends for advice and never took the time to ask me what I needed. Of course at that time, I was clueless about what I really needed. Fleeing seemed to be the closest to fulfilling my immediate needs at the time, but everyone seemed puzzled by my actions and never looked beyond the action for the actual cause of my erratic behavior.
When I had been at Kinsman Hall about 7 months, I was called into a staff meeting to be told that I was going to be able to have a visit with my mother for a few hours. The visit had to be on the premises because they felt I was at high risk for splitting. The reason for the visit was because my mother was getting married and was moving to Florida. I was told the man she was marrying was named Bill. The name immediately sparked recognition and for a moment, I felt happy that my mother was moving on even if her moving on meant leaving me behind. My big surprise came when she arrived with her husband-to-be and the “Bill” she had been dating was not the man she was marrying.
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| Taken the day of my visit (age 16) |