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Chapter 9: Thief On The Run

It’s always been a struggle trying to let go or hold onto things in hopes that they could be the same as before. Turning the page to see what was next, wasn’t something I looked forward to at times. I struggle with the identity of past and present and although I am bright price change within myself I still have a hard time of letting go and maybe that has been my problem. I was only in my early stages of preteen and I had lived braver than most girls my age. From taking a train alone across Canada with my brother after my mom drove us out there in  a blue topaz, chasing the Edmonton Oilers, having cold baths as she didn’t have heat or hydro, watching endless episode’s of Young and Restless, learning all about sex and disconnection to watching my brother burn down the bush behind our house. It was all going so fast, why can’t thing slow down.

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After Grade 8  graduation I’m not sure what really happened within me. Those emotions that we all run from that haunt us and our sleeps negativity, anger,resentment and confusion replanted with in the years prior and manifested into someone I didn’t understand. Becoming someone I never wanted to be, going through the rythum of the day. The day came I was proud to get myself my first babysitting job, able to make some of my own money was an awesome thing at that age. I remember walking into Gagne’s Pharmacy on Scott Street and I have an obsession with perfume as I bought my first bottle of perfume months prior entrance or during the grade 8 graduation trip. The thrill of stealing and getting away with it was almost addicting. I felt excited, as weird and sick as that sounds. Piano lessons, didn’t go so well. I had given up on everything my parent tried to get my involved in, the only thing they didn’t enroll me was counselling. The help, I clearly needed.
I can still see the bottle I was wanting on the counter; I can still smell the aroma of vanilla, musk and earth. I bought that bottle that day, although I wish I can remember the name. I had used up all my money and I had to buy my dad a birthday gift still. I remember hearing the song “mama say knock you out” and I going into the record store in hopes to buy my dad some music I ended up buying that CD that day because I liked it and he did it but I thought he might. Funny as it sounds my devil return the favour many times over the years. You wasn’t very impressed with it which ended up in my tape recorder. I started going into the pharmacy I’m going to the cosmetics department to smell the perfume samples, I get fixated on things. Once I realized I wasn’t making enough babysitting money to pay for my obsession of perfume, I still to this day have the same set up I did back in 1991. I earned these bottles rightfully this time.  When the money I was regularly stealing continued, from the people I babysat for, they had already notified my dad and questions were being risen about the amount of things I was buying. It became an obsession, hard for anyone to stop. Not even the embarrassment of having to return the perfume bottle I stole, can keep a wild child away from adrenaline.

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In between my babysitting hours, groundings and trying to figure out who I was. I was spending more time with boys and dating a cute boy named Jeff. We would have dances in his parents basement, something I wanted to have at my place but was never allowed. That’s when I started to learn how to kiss and because we had braces we tend to get caught up a bit LOL. I remember his grade 8 photo he gave me and on the back of it it said ” I love you ” I loved him too and are slow dancing will always be a memory in my mind.

The summer of 1996, was the last I would spend at 1033 Portage Ave. It was also the summer my brother got the shit beat out of him by my dad, as my step mother stood and watched. I screamed for my dad to stop. I seen the side of my dad, I remembered when I was younger,  a flashback of my dad kicking down the  bathroom door and ripping my mom out of the shower, hitting her on the bed as she screamed to stop, after a fight at my grandparents. Those red tears, the feeling of elastic bands in my diaphragm and my heart racing so fast and no one was stopping it. I can still remember the sound of the guitar smashing against the wall or the bed and I ran. I ran into my room and shut the door. My brother had friends over while my dad and my stepmom were up at the cabin and the step kids were with their own dad. I was spending the night at a friends house, I had no idea my brother was having friends over to party. I figured I would just call and check in with my dad which was probably the worst move, I have ever made, because earlier on that evening one of my brothers friends were at the house and they have pretended to be me on the phone and my dad believed that everything was OK. I was the one who would unleash the beast on my brother, a flashback, I wish I could change.

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The next day and over the course of the next few days a purple hand print would show up on my brothers back and will embark my brother on emotional lifelong journey of trying to figure out why his own dad would be such an asshole, no compassion or sincerely for what his children had already gone through in life.
And then it wasn’t shortly later my dad found out that I was stealing money and of course I lied about it. But with lies comes honesty, as I learned honesty is the best policy until you get hit again. I was always told to tell the truth, and the consequences wouldn’t be so bad. A time I never realized what could be any worse than this. The time I never wanted to know what happened tomorrow. I started to lose my zest for life. High school was just around the corner, I was maturing faster than most the girls around me and I was still as confused as I was when I was six.
I was grounded for three months, pretty much all summer long. I’m still trying to remember if I was allowed on the phone but I don’t think so. It was enough time to build up enough resentment and anger as I was going into a amazing time in my life, things might get around the house anyway and I don’t think there was anything that I can say or do to make anyone turn my way. So I thought.

High school was underway and my grounding was over, I met someone who was very much like myself. We both had a broken family, mental health issues, I disconnected family also just trying to be happy. We had so much in common we both embarked on a journey to find ourselves. And a journey although we have each other’s back we were going down a dark road, pretty self-destructing road.
The first part of high school, I tried out for the cheerleading team, after being caught smoking I was kicked off. I had already been on the volleyball and basketball team in grade 7 and 8 and it wasn’t something I wanted to do. Spraining my ankle twice at the competition which pissed me off due to the fact I had to sit on the sidelines watching everybody kick: everyone else’s ass. Being left out sucks, I have come to learn that in life.

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I looked into joining student council and I wasn’t really the goody two shoes type so I didn’t really think I’d fit in so I passed on it. I became part of a couple groups and one being the “skidders” and the other group just enjoyed living life to the fullest. Being in high school was proving to be a tougher endeavor than I anticipated.
It was only a few months into grade 9 and I was already in trouble again. Clearly the many trips to Sunny Cove Bible Camp and Wisconsin Dells Bible Camp, crying because I wasn’t sent with a bible to read and made fun of. A week packed with a variety of activities that are meant to impact kids for eternity. Each day includes Bible study, chapel, cabin activities, free time, field games and a campfire. I really don’t remember fitting in yet or even making connections with friends. None of this didn’t do much for my development or personality.

I was just in a terrible mood, I was quietly sitting in the basement watching TV, my knees to my chest; hating myself and the world around me. Who wants to eat when you feel like a bag of shit. I didn’t want to eat. I was called to come for dinner and at 13 years old, I thought I had the right to say I didn’t want to come. I was made to eat. The angry authority figure came down the stairs and looked at me in the eyes and told me to get upstairs for supper. I stood my ground and told him I wasn’t hungry and I didn’t want to go. I got smacked that day across the head and hit in the arm. I remember it hurt and I remember taking my arm and holding my other arm with it but I started to cry. I went up for supper that night, I didn’t eat much, I cried and I was quiet. I had my own bedroom at the time, as I couldn’t stand my stepsister any longer and we were separated. The boys shared the big room and I know my brother didn’t enjoy that it either. We really didn’t get fair treatment, as we got older and we were able to see things ourselves and make a conclusion based on the actions of the individuals involved.. Our life is starting to make sense, it was clear as day my future was going to be a struggle going forward.

I didn’t sleep very much that night. I almost kind of went into a depressed depression I started to hold things in. I still can remember sitting in the same classroom, a classmate bent over and asked me if I was OK that was the moment the tears went down my face so fast I couldn’t stop them we had left the classroom after having permission and we went for a walk down the hall. I explained a little about what was happening, how I was feeling alone. It wasn’t long I was call down to the office to speak to the principal of West fort HS. They had already talk to the student as she was concerned for my well-being. The kind of person I am I try to hide it at first, The look on my face of despair and sadness was enough for them to know something was clearly wrong.

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I opened up that day enough in hopes that someone would listen. The children’s aid Society was called, and I was being picked up after school and I was not to go home. I don’t remember much except sitting in the room around a circular table, my dad was there trying to talk his way out of he was not an angry for a person to be scared of. He went on to say we were trouble kids and he was just trying to find a way to parent. I think he had no clue how to be much of a father or husband from what I had been witnessing regardless of my behaviors. Your responsible for your own actions and words.
The children’s aid Society gave me actually an option but they did asked me a series of questions and one question that determine my fate was this. ” Are you scared of your father”? I knew I didn’t have to think about it very long and I’m sure they already knew the answer cause I could see it on my face. I told him I was scared of my father. I wasn’t scared of him hurting me, by violence. I was scared of him because he had not supported me emotionally from the beginning. Doesn’t matter if I got the gifts I wanted on my Christmas list or it doesn’t matter about what you gave me in material items. It’s about the time you spend with other people showing them that you’re happy there alive. To nurture, comfort and support them for growth and development. Is not what you signup for when you choose to have kids? or was it because I was a mistake, wasn’t planned and found out she had post-pardom depression after I was born;   Was I an acceptation to the rule? to treat me like a disease because no one wanted me from the start?

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I already had a mother walk out of my life due to mental health and depression, she didn’t know better. My father didn’t step up to the plate, maybe he didn’t know how do deal with it either? He pretty much gave up on us after that, it was evident amongst the players in the gossip circuit of a small town of 9000 people. Rumours and news doesn’t take long to travel, and there is always 2 sides to every story. I don’t believe he knew how to take care of us, as mental health was something people shunned upon. There were little options for those, lithium was one. A drug, which was recommended at 20 years old. A drug, I refused to take. Is it possible, that  he had learned all his life how to take care of them self and himself only? Regardless, he failed at the parent test.
I had already spent years on the run already of trouble, crime and self destruction and it was only going to get worse before it got better. Much worse, arrested.

 

 

 

 

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Cannabis Enthusiast : Craft Edible Creator : Recreation and Leisure Professional : Blogger
A Craft Edible Experience

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