29 August 2013
I could not stop the tears rushing from my eyes, splashing against the cold ground so heavily. I could feel the brisk wind, harsh against my damp face as I struggled to look for a shelter. I used to feel pity for those who were homeless, but after I experienced being desolate myself, I came to the realization that they are very strong people. They are strong because they have the will-power to stay alive, and try to do better for them.
There had been tension in my household, and I was always uncomfortable. I tried my hardest to stay out of the house by hanging out with my friends. Their parents enjoyed my company and had let me stay the night a plethora of times. It was a relief for me because I did not have to stress over the unbearable judgment of my family. I was gone for a week, going from house to house partying, drinking, and being reckless. I had recently turned 18, and I felt no one could authorize me. I thought of myself as an adult, and I soon came to realize I would be treated like an adult. Evacuated. Deserted? Displaced! I returned home to find my roomed clean spotless; from the mahogany dresser I had in the corner near my dusty TV, to the old brown paint chipped door. I was speechless. I could not fathom what was happening. The only thoughts running through my head were, “Did we get robbed?” or, “Did my family move out or something?” I could hardly breathe, and while gasping for air, I heard the front door open. I ran towards the brightly lit living room, where I saw my grandmother standing in the middle of the plush carpet. She was on the phone talking to my mom, saying “...Yeah, It’s just something we have to do.” I started wondering what she was going to do, until she shouted, “He ain’t gonna like it, but he’s gotta grow up!” I just stood there appalled. I responded at that point, and the news that I got changed my life forever. On August 1, 2013, I was kicked...
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