When I was a teenager, I longed to go to a boarding school to escape from home. They pressured me not to, even my grandma. They argued, among other things, that the quality of the education at my current school was far superior. That clinched it. Since I had just a few more years left at home, I might as well give myself the best chance I could.
That’s also why I didn’t run away. I pictured living on the street with punks who would merely tolerate me. I figured that, later, without a high school diploma, I would only find grueling, poorly paid jobs and perhaps turn to drugs.
That left the option of killing my mother. However, juvie would also affect the rest of my life. No way was I going to screw up my own future.
Still, I remember encouraging her the day she crouched in the bathroom with tiny nail scissors pressed to her wrist and announced she was going to kill herself. “Look, if you think it’s best, I won’t hold it against you, you know.”
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