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“I can't take it anymore Mom,†I screamed. “It's too much! I have to go. NOW!â€Â
I whipped the door closed behind me with a flick of my wrist, and listened to the latch snap into place and the door clunk against it's frame as I stormed into my room. I stomped to my bed and threw myself down with all the force I could muster. I flopped down onto the pillows and kicked the crumpled sheet by my feet out of my way. Only now did I wish I had made my bed today, just so I could hide under the covers and let it all out.
Instead I let the tears slide down my face as I gasped for air like a member of the Titanic who had neglected to learn how to swim because of their confidence in the “unsinkable shipâ€Â. I could feel the fury at some unidentified force rising inside me, and I let it take over. It wasn't worth the fight these days. The anger was part of me now; I couldn't seem to get rid of it.
As I lay there sobbing I thought. What were my options? I couldn't seem to overcome the unexplained hate, and it wasn't right to take it out on others. I didn't deserve them. This family, my friends—I wasn't worth it. They shouldn't have to deal with me every day simply because I was going through some weird emotional thing. I shouldn't be putting them through this. No way.
So back to my original point:
What should I do?
If I couldn't stop myself from taking out my frustration on other people, I had to get away from them. To somewhere far away. Maybe becoming a hobo or a loner. I could get a job at a fast food restaurant and ask a coworker for a ride to work and a couch to sleep on. I could make it work. Nobody I liked would have to put up with me again. Perfect.
I'd tell my parents and friends I would call when I could, and I would. I could use the payphone on the corner that the Burger King I would work at was on. I would call once a week. I could already feel the dented border of the quarter I would drop into the slot, the plinking sound it would make as it hit the collection bin of the machine.
Yes.
This is what I would do.
There was no other way, at least that I could see. Sure I got the short end of the stick, but it was fitting. I was the one causing problems, so I would get the worst of the pain and suffering. I would deal with it on my own. Far away from others.
Now that I knew I was leaving, there were a few things I had to do first. Like plan. And pack. And break it to the ones I loved. All things that had to be done, but that I didn't want to do. I mean, who would? No matter how fed up I was with life, it still had it's perks. Having a family and any friends was a miracle in itself to me. It was going to be hard to let go.
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