Been a while. An eternity for most people obsessed with the internet, but I would still need an eternity to solve what's going on with me. And what happened on Monday. It's still bugging me, but the degree to how I acted is scary.
I ran off that night. Maybe a half hour after the final performance, but I just felt like I was suffocating a bit. I didn't want to go home because of my dad, and I didn't want my mom to return me to what felt like my eternal prison. Add that with emotions that were extremely unstable, and I couldn't even think about what I was doing.
The minute I heard my mon's voice in the hallway, I fleed. Not proud of it, and never will be. I didn't care where I went, I just wanted to get away from anything that would keep me within a mile-radius of where my father was at.
The entire time I was out on the street, I was freaking out. I was in so much trouble, the law was likely to get involved. Every sound, every passing car, every thought was agonizing. I couldn't stay with any outside family; I didn't have enough money on me to survive a week; I was truly alone for the first time.
When I finally found a place to rest, I started to cry, not because of fear, but because of the gut-wrenching regret of what my mother was going through. I didn't care about my dad at that point, but I know that anything I do that can cause me physical harm will send her into a protective fury. Now she was powerless, unable to protect her eldest son, whom she loves to death.
But I was at least able to sort some things out in the time I was in that area. My emotions were the first to be taken care of, as well as my train of thought. Funny how fear can make you think so clearly sometimes. Maybe it also helped that I could at least see a few more stars than usual (I either saw the Big or Little Dipper; never much of a star gazer), but at least I was fuctional shorlty afterwards.
But things went really bad for me when my dad found me, when I was starting another trek for warmth. His face held so much disappointment, I'm surprised he didn't start hollering at first. I unwillingly went with him to the appartment we call home, not saying a word. Once we were inside, he started saying how stupid I was acting, and that I was better than that. How I would end up like some of my cousins if I didn't straighten up.
I didn't care. I had heard that speech so many times, I knew what I was to him; a ticket. A ticket towards a better future. His son, yes, but a son that would get him through in the near future.
The next morning, my mom woke me up to tell me that I had to go to school. Not on her terms, but by those of the principle. If I didn't go, the police would drag me out of my home and send me to jail. Despite how weak I was feeling, not from lack of warmth the other night but from mental and emotional stress, I got out of bed and prepared for the worst.
Apparantly the counselor managed to talk some sense into the big head, because I was excused for the day so long as I had an emergency therapist meeting. Again, not proud of what I did. Now I had someone trying to cover for me; even though what I did was irresponsible, I figured I would at least take it with some dignity.
The wait for the meeting was torture that Tuesday. My mom tried to make it easier for me, but I just wanted to get all of it over with. I didn't give a damn that finals were in the next week, I just wanted a moment alone. Alone from everyone, from my stressed mind, everything.
Then she sat me down, and asked me; "Do you feel like you're carrying chains?" She saw that last performance. She might not have seen how hard it was just to keep myself in one piece, but for the first time in my theater career, she actually saw one of my school's performances. And that selfish act of mine had nearly destroyed her heart.
The tears started building after she said that. She started to revert to the mother of my childhood, only much softer, so much more delicate. As soon as the only tear I couldn't hold back came, she broke down in front of not only me, but also my brother. He might not have understood what was going on, but that moment stopped the building torrent in me, just as she embraced me, saying; "I don't want anything to happen to you. You're my baby!"
At first, I thought I was just being heartless. My own mother cries a flood, and I stop crying? What the hell was wrong with me? But now, I think it it was because someone had to be strong at that moment. As a kid, she took whatever pain she could away, and fought battles I didn't even want when the other students were picking on me. She went through a rough childhood, mixed with love and hate, disappointment and joy, physical and mental pain, and had to be the caretaker of her younger siblings when her eldest sisters ran off. But this was the one thing she couldn't take: to see her own flesh-and-blood in so dark a prison that he couldn't even speak to her, much less look at her face.
I pretty much slept until the dreaded therapist appointment that evening. When the two of us were alone in the office, she asked me what had happened, but in a way that told me she wanted to hear my side of the story, not that of an adult. I told her everything that had happened from Sunday; my dad, the play, the run, everything major. It hurt to say all of that, but it felt so good to finally get it off my chest, that someone else knew what I was going through.
Do I regret it? No. Not one bit.
Did I cry? I won't lie, I came close. But it wouldn't have done her any good to have a seventeen-year-old boy break down when he had been fighting it all day. It wouldn't have done me any good at that point.
I was allowed to go to school the next day without any issues happening. Nobody said a word, I kept to myself, trying to act like nothing happened. Near Econimics, I realized I wasn't fooling myself. I couldn't hide from that small fact; I had ran away and caused so much turmoil within my family, they wouldn't be able to recover from it any time soon. No way could I reverse those actions, nor the results.
At that point, I started thinking that I should just stop the charade and go home. That changed in my theater class. The eldest theater director pulled me aside from the other students and told me what had happened after I had left: how she had the police check every last INCH of the school looking for me; how she, my mother, and the co-director were waiting for me for TWO HOURS, hoping that I would return; and how she had read every previous blog entry, and how she reacted.
It hurt to hear her say all that stuff. And it also made me realize that, despite how distant I am with the world, that will never stop people from caring about me. My mother is an obvious case, but it's hard to define with the two theater directors. I was just the kid that showed up, extremely dedicated to what he was doing, even if he wasn't needed for the day's rehersal. But they saw me as their child as well. Maybe not as strongly as my actual mother, but enough that she actually knocked enough sense into me; for the first time in my life, I realized how I can't keep acting like I can take on the world alone. That's what made me snap in the first place.
Will things get harder from this point on? Maybe, but at least I don't have to do it alone anymore. It's going to be a major step forward to accept not only others, but also myself. I don't want there to be a repeat performance; nobody does.
Now for a bit of trivia. The reason why I entitled my account "YaminoKaaten" is because it translates into "Curtain of Darkness." They're starting to rise. All that's left is to find out what's been hiding this entire time.