I was 8 when I had to flee from my own home because of an outsider. As I ran I had one instruction; don’t look back.

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I was laying in my bed on a cold winter night trying to fall asleep. It was always hard for me to sleep as a kid. I would lay awake for hours with wide eyes. I waited for sleep to come night after night but all that came were countless mornings watching the sunrise. I never knew why I couldn’t sleep and even after endless searching I still don’t have an answer. On this night I was watching a Spongebob episode, my favorite one, like I did every night. That's when the yelling started.

At first it was nothing more than a quiet hum I could barely hear over Spongebob’s song that he was singing but with every measure I could hear the volume grow till the rolls had reversed. The only thing I could do was close my eyes and sink into my bed trying to free myself from fear, trying to escape. Anywhere but here, that’s where I wanted to be. 

I tried to drift off to my imagination like I have so many times before. My safe space was my own mind but sadly it couldn’t save me this time. Every time I came close to flying away I heard a scream coming from the woman downstairs. 

She was like a poltergeist haunting the halls of my home. She was always looming around every corner and always had a bottle in her hand. She stood so much taller than me like I was a stupid little ant she could crush with one simple stomp. It’s not hard to understand why I avoided her at all costs. 

Nights like these weren’t unusual by any means but what happened next definitely was. I lay stiff as stone; listening for some sign of piece or danger. Some sign of an end. That's when it happened. That's when the world finally flipped on its head.

There was a loud crash in the living room. Right on the other side of my door there was something smashed to the floor and I had no idea what it could be. My eyes were shut so tight I had begun to see spots of colors dance across my vision. I just wanted to run far far away from here but I was trapped in the attic bedroom with the shaggy red carpet full of paint stains. The setting of my childhood. So many memories were here; I’ve never wanted to run from it so bad in my life. 

My thoughts of running were so loud I couldn’t hear the comfort of Spongebob’s laugh anymore. They were so loud I had nearly missed my bedroom door being ripped open so fast that I was surprised it didn’t fly off the hinges. Not even a second later my door was slammed shut. Click the lock turned.

For a split second I was afraid; I was now locked in my room with a person I couldn’t see. Who was at the bottom of those stairs? That fear vanished as soon as I heard my dad’s voice fill my ears. “Get up and pack a bag," my dad’s words were rushed. Yet another crash from the living room. “Hurry."

As soon as that last word left my dad’s mouth I leaped out of bed and began to tug my pants on. One word echoed through my head as my foot got stuck in the leg of my pants. Hurry hurry hurry.

Once I finally got my pants on I ran back to my bed and ripped the small pink baby blanket that I still carried around with me. That was the only thing I grabbed that day. I know it sound’s stupid but that old blanket was the only constant I had and there was nothing that could take it from me. 

I ran half way down the stairs to meet my dad and that’s when he told me the plan. “When I open this door I’m going to go first and I want you to go out the front door before me. Go out the door and get in the truck," my dad went to open the door but froze before he unlocked the door. “One more thing Kiddo, don’t look back," it was the last thing he said to me in the house that night.

He opened the door and rushed out to block the entrance to the living room. This was it; I have to run. As soon as my dad had the front door open I went for it. I leaped off the last step and out the door to his truck. Just like I was told. 

I never processed what happened in that split second that night. I only recently registered what I saw. As I ran out of my bedroom door my dad had his back to the living room. The poltergeist was screaming yet again and she had a TV dinner table in her hands. Her arms had lifted and she had thrown the wooden table in my direction. My dad got slammed in the back with the table but he hadn’t been her target. He shielded me from her violence and rage. I was the thorn in her side, the piece of the puzzle that just never fit. I was the oldest child that wasn’t hers. “If only that things mother kept her legs closed.” That sentence still runs through my head every once in a while. If only I wasn’t born. She wanted me gone and out of the picture yet I had stayed. My dad made sure of it.

I’m glad I never noticed any of that when I was younger. It may be hard for me now but it would have crushed my 8 year old mind.

I sat in my dad’s truck alone for only a few seconds but it felt like hours. My dad had run out of the house behind me and he hopped in the driver seat of his blue truck. The same one he bought only days before my mom found out she was pregnant with me. My dad backed out of the driveway and began our ride. I didn’t ask where we were going. I already knew. 

I was being driven back to my mom’s house. I live with her most of the time and only saw my dad every other weekend and this one had gotten cut short. I felt bad for my dad. He wouldn’t get to stay at my mom’s place like I would. He would have to go back to the haunted house. He’d have to go back to hell. 

The drive home was quiet most of the time but it was filled with so much emotion it was suffocating. I felt it all in the pit of my stomach and the back of my throat. It felt like I was going to throw up and cry all at once and it was so overwhelming. My dad could feel it too. I could see it in his eyes. He looked so somber and tired. I didn’t know what he was thinking but it seemed almost like disappointment. I knew he wanted this family to work. Our puzzle of four. There were only 2 pieces that didn’t fit. The poltergeist and me. 

I did feel bad for being the reason it didn’t work back then. I didn’t know what I had done or how to fix it but it was obvious it was my fault. Her face fell every time I walked in the room no matter how big my smile was. My second grade teacher told me I had a different smile for everyone and could brighten anyone’s mood simply by showing them my smile. I took that literally at the time and I convinced myself I just wasn't smiling hard enough. It was honestly pathetic. I tried so hard to get this woman to look at me with even half the affection that she used to look at my sister but no matter what it was never enough. Nothing I could do would fix the problem because the problem was simply the fact I was born.

My dad told me on that car ride home that he was going to be ok but I wasn’t sure. I was scared for him and for the future. I thought to myself what if she kills him and for a few years I thought that was a stupid thought but in now I’m not sure. She was violent, angry, and downright disgusting. 

We pulled into the parking lot of my mom's apartment building and we sat in silence for a moment or two. I counted his breaths before he began to speak. Five. He needed five breaths to string his words together. 

“I love you Kiddo. I’m sorry," he sighed the words as he looked at me for the first time since he told me to run.

“I love you too dad. Don’t worry it’s okay," I smiled up at him. I knew it wasn’t okay but I listened to my teacher. My smile could brighten anyone's mood. That always seemed to be true when it came to my dad. He always smiled back.

He called my mom and she came walking down the stairs and outside to take my hand as I hopped out of the blue truck and into my mom’s apartment. I may not have thought about it at that moment but my dad probably cried that night. I really don’t doubt that he finally sent the woman that ripped our family apart back to her own house and sat alone in his attic room that was connected to mine. Crying.