Runaway

So, a friend of mine suggested I write something about desperation and despair. Me?! Desperation and despair? That's like asking Lady Gaga to be seen in a pair of simple slacks and a sweater. It ain't gonna happen. This is not to say I don't feel these emotions. Every human being has felt their share of these two dastardly diddies, however, I have made it good practice to show as little of it as possible, and if I'm going to show it, it's only to the people I feel won't judge my imperfections or failures.
In fact sometimes I get so adept at holding in my feelings of fear or inadequacy that I find myself in a state of hiding. Pushing everything so far inside that no one can know, and if I must break down, well maybe quietly under the covers at night when I'm pretty sure no one will know my secrets. That I am sad, or lonely, or sick of the mere sight of myself, or the fact that people tell me I'm strong but I feel so weak.
These maybe are a couple things I have been feeling this past week and would rather not carry on about, because it just doesn't jive with my glass is half full approach to life. I have to press on in the mindset that this is a mere bump in the road and things will right themselves soon enough, otherwise I really might have a meltdown.
As I have always been prone to dramatic flair, anytime life doesn't go my way my immediate idea is: run away. Those of you who aren't familiar with my attempt at running away as a child, well I'll retell that sordid tale.
The particulars are fuzzy now as I was a wee lil thing. Okay like fourteen, but still. As I remember it, I was feeling the pressures of being the oldest in an extensive family and felt neglected. I know my mom wasn't home that day because, honestly if I ran away when my mom was home, not only would she notice, but become royally pissed for such shennanigans like wasting a good Saturday of cleaning on crass theatrics like attempted runaway.
So I pulled this little stunt when my dad was home. Thinking the outcome was two-fold. He'd miss me terribly and grovel with tears in his eyes when I returned, saying how worried he'd been and that I could never be overlooked again. And that I'd get the respect I rightly deserved. In all reality I am certain I knew neither of these outcomes would be the case, as I could've probably burst into the house with a gouging blood-wound on my head and my dad would say, "Well honestly, why'd you go and do that? Go lay down until your mom gets home, I'm sure she'll want to take you to the E.R. or some nonsense for that piddly scrape," (haha just teasing dad).
Anyway, I digress. But well, I love to digress, but seriously, anyway. I hopped on my two speed Huffy, appropriately named for the only times when I'd get on that damn thing. In a huff. As I did that day, spitting gravel down the driveway and promptly heading for the trail running parallel to the railroad tracks near our house. Yes, you can't have a proper runaway tale without railroad tracks, so kudos to me. I pedaled furiously until I reached the next street down (um like a quarter of a mile away). As soon as I came to a stop to potentially cross, I thought, what are you doing you loon? This is lame, you're already exhausted and where are you even going with no food or money? It'd probably been a mere half an hour since I last ate and the prospect of holding out near a swamp for hours without food was worse a fate than admitting defeat on my bold statement to my parents. So I turned around hoping that it had been sufficient time for my dad to come to his senses. As I cruised back to the house prepared for my dad to ask where have you been, I saw upon my return that all was as I'd left it. Some youngin's playing in the yard, someone (let's just say Jordan) avoiding his chores, and my dad watching sports. I came in heaving and indignant and looked pointedly waiting. Waiting. Waiting..... "Dad!"
"Did you finish your chores yet?"
"Forget it!" I most likely squealed with tears ready on the brink of my lashes.
This was my first and last attempt at running away. However, when the going gets tough it is never far from my mind, as a viable option to solving all of life's problems. But, alas it doesn't take much to bring me back to that day and the futility of my efforts. Running away doesn't solve any of your problems. It pretty much just makes you feel stupid and leaves you breathless with exhaustion.
So I guess I'm staying put.