Eventually, I was found by the police and taken to a detention center. The rumors were that I was out prostituting myself for places to stay and my whole family believed it. Once again, I had no mother to tell what had happened, to comfort me or ask me if I was okay. At my stepfather’s urging, I was labeled “incorrigible” and placed into a reform school for girls. To the counselors, and probation worker, I tried to explain what my life was like at home without specifically saying anything, but my stepfather had them believing I was a pathological liar. I had one person tell me that to my face. What had I done wrong? Is this what we do with all the things in society that make us uncomfortable? We just sweep them under the rug? Are the people it affects to be ignored? Maybe then, it won’t come into our rosy little lives and disturb our hearts? Well, that’s a shame. I understand that no one wants to hear things that constantly depress them. Especially in a world where things are getting more and more heinous by the hour. If we paid adequate attention, and gave proper emotional attachment to everything on the news, we’d all need to be medicated. Maybe that’s why so many people drink and do drugs? But what about the lone individual? What about the one person out there asking for an anonymous word from someone—anyone?
PREVIOUS PAGE
