I've found telling stories about my life in Sydney on here be really helpful. I've finally found a place to order my words and re tell the events so they become clearer to me as those two years are just a blurry mess. I have fun telling the stories too, so I hope someone at least, is enjoying reading them.
When I was 12, almost 13 I ran away from home. I lived on the streets for about a month. I'd like to give a location but I was all over the place. Not just physically, but mentally as well. I can't remember most of it. I'd like to say drugs or alcohol or something but the reality is that I just blocked alot of that time out and piecing it back together proves to be a challenge. Partly why this blog is helpful. Anyway, this story is about the lead up to returning home. So enjoy or whatever
All-nighters weren't anything new to me by this stage. It had been about 3 1/2 weeks since I had been home and honestly, I wasn't particularly planning on heading there any time soon. For the time I'd been on the streets, I lived off shop lifted food and drinks and stolen items from peoples cars and bags as well as a collection of 50 cent coins from asking strangers if I could have some money to 'call my mum'. I'm not proud of what I did but some of the stuff we got away with was ridiculous. For example; Rachel and I (the girl I spent most of my time with) were in K-mart in Miranda. We were walking around with the full knowledge that we were leaving with something on behalf of the five finger discount. After asking a shop assistant where the Jackets were with our pants stuffed with swimwear, shorts and a singlet, we were pointed in the right direction. Both of us just put on a jacket and walked out of the store. Just like that. As we were leaving the westfields with our trolley full of stolen goods, we noticed some security guards following us, so we picked up our pace and were meters away from the main exit when I was tapped on the shoulder.
'Excuse me miss, but do you have receipts for all this?'
'Sorry man, we chose not to take bags or receipts to save the environment'
'Well, we've had a report of a stolen jacket and we'd just like to take a look through your things'
- Please excuse me why I just say, how the fuck did they not realise that there was not a paid item in that shopping trolley. I'm sorry but how dumb can you get. No receipts, no bags, still tagged items and it couldn't be any more obvious that we got them at 'off the shelf' prices.
Somehow, and I don't know how but we left with our trolley still full and our criminal record clean.
Anyway, the point of that was to just explain the types of things we did. So it was a week night, for the stories sake let's just assume it was a Tuesday. I was in Cronulla alone. I had been alone at this stage for about a week. Words can't explain that. I don't think I will ever be able to put words the the loneliness I felt, the pain, the sadness, whatever it was, it's unexplainable. In Melbourne, night riders only run on Fridays and Saturdays but in Sydney, public transport is available 24 hours 7 days a week. It was about 2 am in the morning and trains had ended. I didn't have anywhere to stay so I decided to take the night rider to the city and just wonder around there. Whether it was because I hadn't slept in a few days or because the bus seat was the comfiest thing I'd been on in a long time, I fell asleep on the bus. When we arrived in the city, the bus driver came to the back and woke me up. He started a conversation with me about where I was going, what I was doing, Why a young girl like me was out this late. I didn't give him much of an explanation, just that I was meant to meet a friend in Cronulla but she never came and now it's too late to go home. He told me that I can stay and sleep on the bus until trains started up again. So that's what I did. Mind you, I woke up a fair few times to drunken passengers getting on the bus and some even vomiting all over themselves. It was 4:30 when the trains started. So when we hit the city for the last final time after about 3 trips to Cronulla and back, I was about the get off the bus when the bus driver grabbed me and handed me a ten dollar note. I don't even know what to say here because it was probably the most generous thing someone has ever done for me and it was from someone who didn't even know me.
I got of the bus and headed down to central station to get on a train going nowhere, when it hit me. This wave of exhaustion, like I'd had enough and I just couldn't do it any more. I had two choices there and then. Go home or kill myself. Without much deliberation, I chose to go home. I took a train to Wolli Creek and then another one to Narwee. By this time, I had no phone. An entire different story but I got in a fight with someone and they stole my phone. Anyway, Mum didn't know I was coming home, I'm certain she didn't care either because after the fifteen minute walk from the train station to home, I walked through the front door, said 'hey mum' - walked up the stairs and put my school uniform on. Walked down stairs, out the front door and to the bus stop. I slept through every single class that day. I know teachers had known something was up with me since mid year. I had missed ridiculous amounts of school, been suspended a ridiculous amount of times and well, they'd met my mother.
The point is, life is actually fucked. My own mum didn't even care that after a month I returned home. She never asked me what happened in this time, maybe she didn't care maybe she just thought that ignorance was infact bliss. Nether the less, I'm alive when I shouldn't be, I don't have a criminal record when I really should do and I have stories to tell. Sad ones, difficult ones, ones of danger and ones of stupidity. But when something bad happens, you have three choices. Let it define you, destroy you or strengthen you.
