I've never given much thought to how I was living. And now I have, I now know I am not happy with myself. I cannot survive living like this anymore. I know that I have to go, get away from the people I am hurting, the people I have hurt, to escape from myself. It's me; I'm the one hurting people. Not the people around me, no matter how hard I try to push the blame on to someone else. No matter how I tried to push it onto the people I once loved. So, I had to run. Had to get away for a while; get my head together. Did it help it might have done. I really needed some professional help but I never did. I couldn't stand being told how to live my life. I have been living my own life since I was 5 and people always try to stop me. I know what's better for me and my sisters. This is the tale of what I did and what happened during those few days.

I had to get away. Away from the home that I thought I could get used to. The home I had been in for 8 years after being taken from my parents. The home where I thought I could be safe. The home I hurt a lot of people in. My friends, my family and me, everything I've ever done have been for me. And I haven't meant it to be like that. I was trying to help people.