Angry Kids

bye bye

A/N: Day one was the second of the worst. It's one of the most vivid of the memories I have.

On January 12th, last year, my parents sent me to a residential treatment center in rural Maine, in hopes of trading in my habits for better ones.

It did not work.

However, the story I think is interesting enough to tell.

Some parts of the timeline felt yanked from a movie scene, others made it feel as though the apocalypse was coming. Everything I once knew seemed to disappear from my memory, after living inside a tucked away dimension for so long.

And no, I am most definitely not exaggerating when I say that the place was it's own tiny dimension, cut off from the world. You'll know what I mean soon.

It started with being flat out lied to by my mother- though she had her reasons.

"The high school found a new place for you," She told me.

I shrugged. "So, are you gonna tell me the name?"

"...I don't know."

That was the first moment I knew something was off. She couldn't lie, though she'd try with everything she had. It was two weeks before the send-off date. I laughed at her, almost mocking her. "You're fucking kidding, right? You're completely okay with sending me off to a place you don't even know the name of?"

She had a tendency to avoid me when I made valid points, although at this standstill in time I understand why she did it. If I'm to be completely honest with you, though- I haven't completely gotten over it. Even typing this out has my blood boiling at the memory, and I doubt I'll ever completely forgive her.

My mother shrugged me off and only told me, "You'll find out when you get there."- A phrase that would become awfully familiar in time. I ignored it and gave up. I decided on an irrational and completely unnecessary means of escape.

I called my best friend at the time, Nathan.

"I can't believe they're actually trying to get rid of you," He laughed, a sort of sadness evident in his voice. "...What are you going to do...?"

"I'm fucking leaving," I bulleted in response, angrily looking up bus times, and "the best cities to live in while you're homeless". I'm not even kidding, and I'm almost ashamed to say that was my actual plan. I was sixteen, I was stupid- but honestly, I'd probably do the exact same thing today if I found out they were gonna ship me off again.

"What?"

"I'm leaving. I'm running away."

"Oh..." He hesitated again. He knew he couldn't really reason, or argue with me, as I was a very explosive and angry teenager and always had been. My history included lot of drugs, mild self-harm, sneaking out, internet prostitution, so on and so forth.

"Where are you gonna go?" He finally asked. Nathan had a good head on his shoulders, and I'm not really sure why we were friends.

"Nowhere." I sighed, finally deciding on it. "I don't have anywhere to go but the street is fine if it means I'm not in therapy."

To this day, I still have an unreasonable hatred towards therapy in all it's forms. And back then, my anarchist principles were in full drive. I even got the symbol tattooed on my hand. Just as a deceivingly stupid teenage anarchist- like me, would have.

I could literally hear him sigh in disappointment and shake his head over the phone. "Ressy, you know there's better options. Why don't you just tell them you don't want to go?"