The Desire to Run Never Fades

This is a very personal post to me... I'm not a good poet; not when I'm talking about complicated matters, anyway. I'm not going to harm the name of poetry in an attempt to write this as one, as I was originally going to. I've got a flair for telling some things as they are, emotions included.

I'm sometimes a very depressive sort of girl. Maybe its the extra hormones recently being pumped into my body, too. I just tell people that I'm so happy all of the time that I can't physically get any happier - things which are meant to improve my mood have the opposite effect on me. In a way, it's true.

When I was young, I was fascinated by the thought of running away. I think I may have actually packed my bags a couple of times, hiding them in my cupboard so no one would realise my plan. There was actually no reason to get away; I was a pretty happy child. My plans would always fail, however: I could never stay awake long enough to sneak out.

I distinctly remember one specific night, however. I opened my eyes to see it was pitch black against the light pouring in from the streetlamp just outside. I turned my head to the side, and I knew instantly that if I was ever going to run away it would be now. I cuddled back into my quilt, thinking to myself 'Why?' before falling asleep again.

I had been very young then. It was after that that I started to realise how serious my desire to run was. It was probably Year 10 or 11, so I was approximately 15 - a perfectly conscious and responsible for my actions. I was acting strange, and I still had the imaginary friends of childhood at that age constantly talking to me. I remember the day quite clearly. It was the first day back to school after a two week holiday, and I just looked at my school things and realised I couldn't bare to go back to it. I couldn't bare the continuous lessons in their structured order, the monotonous drone of being trapped.

The 'cotton covered world'. I refered to it as that when I was running away from it. Nothing was hurting me, nothing was making any indent on my life. It never even rained when I was outside, I was certain. Life was 'too good', and I crumbled.

I put on my top under my school uniform. I packed my bag, not with school things but with clothes, money and a book. I went downstairs, practically shaking. I couldn't think, because I knew fine well that if I just paused and thought about it then I wouldn't go through with it. I couldn't even wait until the time I was meant to leave, making the excuse I wanted to buy some things before I got to school. Well, I did. I needed food for my journey.

My plan was to ride a train into Newcastle or Carlistle, knowing it would be easier to live in a city, and I'd be less likely to be caught. Unfortunately, my paranoia caught hold. I needed to avoid the train-station until school was over, and I needed to avoid the school and my Mum's work. I found a route directly between all of the places and went that way - towards the park. I didn't want to stop there, though, and wait for school to end. I needed to keep walking. I'd hit a city eventually, right? Or at least a town with a train station?

I think I took the worst route possible. Over six hours later I was still walking, practically in tears, as a car pulled up towards me. It was a man, and I'm not joking when I say I completely didn't care what he did to me. A part of me was even begging that he was some sort of murdering rapist. Turns out he was actually an ex-policeman, however, of all the ironies. He told me that he had just undergone three heart attacks, and now he had a new aspiration to help people. Pretty amazing. He took me to the police office, where they called my mum.

On the ride home, only a couple of minutes after we got in the van a huge blizzard began. "Look, you were almost in that." the policeman told me. Another irony. I was grateful, but only a few minutes ago I would have been wanting that.

I still can't look at the top I was wearing that day without thinking of what happened. It was stupid and selfish and I will never make the same mistake again.

But then I'm brought to the reason why I began to write this, and why I've named this blog 'The Desire to Run Never Fades'. It doesn't. About a month ago I had been out drinking - my first night getting drunk in a pub. So we decided to go to the park because none of us wanted to go home and no where but a night-club was open. There was me, my boyfriend, my best friend and her boyfriend. Karl was wondering about and the other two were in their own little world. I looked out across the field, suddenly realising I wanted to go. I didn't care how, I just wanted to get out of there. I started walking, slowly, across the grass away from them. It took them a little while for them to notice how far ahead I was getting, when they had to call me back. Even then, it took some will-power.

A couple of days ago I was in the metrocenter with my boyfriend again. We were walking around a very quiet area and we paused, just for a second, and I felt that same urge again as I watched the way out. I feel claustrophobic when surrounded by happiness.

The last two times have been down to two chemcials which are meant to make you happier; alcohol and sugar. It was pointed out to me that they often have the opposite effect. Happiness will kill me one of these days, but as long as I enjoy it that's fine by me.