On Finding a Safe Haven

(I'm finally posting on time! I rediscovered my iPhone's alarm feature--yay, me!)

At age thirteen, I go back to camp in Colorado. I am a Counselor in Training this year. I handle my jobs well, but I get into some trouble at night.

My old friend Russel’s parents take me from camp for a weekend with them in Boulder, which passes without incident.

I get involved with two male counselors, at different times. One is determined to take my virginity. Then I meet up with the object of my puppy love from two years past. From then on, I only have eyes for him.

Like I said, I get into some trouble. I am punished on the last day before I will be picked up by my mother to begin the long journey back to California by car. I am very afraid that she will be informed of my misdeeds.

The trip home by car is not without its challenges between my mother and me. We stop at several places along the way to visit my mother’s friends and see the sights. I am overjoyed by the fact that my mother and I are planning for me to spend my high school years with her.

I begin to correspond with the object of my puppy love often by postal mail. I spend the rest of the summer with my mother getting ready for school and setting up my room. I am thrilled that my mother allows me to get a dog. She also allows me to get and wear my first bikini. I go for a weekend camping with my best friend, Rachel.

I believe that I am ready for high school.

Blogger’s Note: I’m getting a little bit ahead of myself with this blog entry, but I believe it is apropos.

What I believed and what was the truth were two very different things. I wasn’t prepared for high school at all, especially at a new school where I didn’t know a soul. After school, I was left at home alone in a town where I had no friends nearby, either. My phone was my lifeline, allowing me to communicate with my best friend Rachel, who attended the high school where my father lived, and my boyfriend, Jonah. He was the object of my puppy love.

I wasn’t ready for all the alone time. Over time, I had chances to visit with people I got to know at school, but my mother wouldn’t allow it. An after-school program, if one existed then, would have been ideal.

For a child prone to depression, huge swaths of alone time are not good. I got up the courage to ask my mother for counseling again, and this time my request was granted. I’m afraid, though, that it was too little too late. The alone time continued, and I was desperate to fill the empty space. I turned to the wrong people, and I was further destroyed by my choices.

My counselor had me admitted one particularly bad night, to the local mental health ward. This started a series of hospitalizations that continued for several months. The hospital, for me, became my safe haven. It was okay for me to be myself there. I was not alone. I had people to talk with. My father and other men could not molest me there.

All the hope and promise of what I thought of as my new life with my mom was dashed on the rocks of uncertainty--the uncertainty of where, what, and who was safe. And safety is what one should be able to expect from home, but safety was the last thing I could expect from that place. I muddled along as best I could, but that was not enough