Ok…. I spent the last few months I was in Germany with the Hadleys. Their home was my refuge, my respite. Eventually summer rolled around again. I went back to Holland to live with my father and the wicked step mother again. Sometime between watching my little sister, who was in my charge, be hit by a speeding car, and getting expelled from school because my father told me if I didn't fight back, I would have to fight him at home, I managed to piss my step mother off. I was banished to the attic where I would lie awake at night listening to Casey on AFN Radio, and pretend I was someone special who'd been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. Sometime while I was in Holland, my mother and step father were sent back stateside. I was angry, alone and confused, so I started doing what all kids do when they feel like that. I was constantly in trouble at school for fighting, back talking teachers, or getting caught making out with seniors in the upper classmen's hallway. Then I started experimenting. There were two sisters who lived across the street, and their parents were never home. They were a little older, and a lot more experienced. I learned so much.
One day my dad left on TDY. He was sent to FL and left me alone with my wicked step mother and two step sisters. She saw her opportunity. Not more than 3 weeks after my dad headed out, she had me on a plane headed state side. I stayed with my grandmother for a little while, but I was already so screwed up in the head, it didn't matter who I lived with. Somehow, during this time, I was able to contact an old friend from Germany named Heidi, who happened to have a phone number or address for a mutual friend named Brian. Brian, who was living in NY at the time, just happened to have an address I needed. So there I was, holding an address in one hand, and a pink and blue ribbon in the other. I mailed the letter, and not too long after, my phone rang. My wannabe fighter pilot was on the other end. For another few years we wrote back and forth with the occassional phone call. I lived most of my time in a futuristic fantasy world. When I wasn't there, I was in reality. My reality was hell. I hated my step mother and felt betrayed by my father. I hated my step father and felt betrayed by my mother. It was me against the world. Like lots of kids then and now...
Everybody knows there is rehab for drug users, and alcoholics, and even sex offenders, but not everybody knows there is behavior rehab. And an even lesser known fact is that such a place exists for kids. I was put into a place that the residents lovingly referred to as "Looney Tunes Hell." There I met some of my best friends. Meg started out as my worst enemy. She beat the shit out of me on a regular basis, until I finally learned what she was trying to teach me--that the world didn't revolve around me--go figure. And that I needed to figure out when to keep my mouth shut. Then we became friends. Then a girl named Alicia checked in, and she taught me how to make fake id's and how to get into places I had no business being. She also taught me that I was slicing the wrong way. The razor blade had to go up and down. Carlos and Troy became the brothers I never had; my protectors. They always seemed to know when I needed to be rescued. And then after we all got out, Carlos was always there after a beating from my step father. Three months of learning things I never would have otherwise had opportunity to learn, I was released into the big bad world. We all got out at about the same time. Alicia finally cut deep enough, and then Meg went off the deep end when her older sister got into the wrong car with the wrong guy. They found her body in the woods outside of Ft. Knox a few days after she went missing. Eventually Troy moved back to Louisville, and that left me and Carlos. He and my step dad didn't get along too well: my step dad didn't like being told who he could and couldn't hit on.
So one night it got pretty ugly, and mom had to call the cops. The ambulance took me to a hospital in Louisville. After I was released from the hospital, I was put into Ten Broeck, a psych hospital near La Grange. I met more of my kind there. And I met a guy. He was a counselor there. He was probably in his late 20s, early 30s, and I was only 12 or 13. I was too young to care, and he was old enough to know better. But as he said, I was vain, and he lavished me with gifts and attention. I spent 6 months there. I fell in love with music while I was there. Ozzy was a god, and Motley Crue wasn't too far behind. Since TB was in L-ville, Troy resurfaced a few times. Some guys from the narc unit saw me through my window and started planning our escape, and then my grandmother brought me a letter from my long lost knight. It was like that for years: a letter here and there, an occasional phone call, and then nothing for many months. When I was released from TB, I went to a group home: Spring Meadows. Sounds nice, huh? I lasted less than 3 weeks. But it's late. Let's save that for another night.
