From my whole life, I have lived in that nowhere town, nestled in the woods of Central

Ontario, just the highway 144, where the pines were tall and the days were cold.

Since I was young, I had wanted out, not only because of my fear of becoming a townie

like my peers were destined to be, but because of my family.

I had a rough childhood, one I'm not keen to get into.

The advice to say, my home life alone was enough to convince me to leave and never come

back.

So, at age 19, with nothing but a trunk of clothes and personal items, and my aunts

hand me down 2007 tired to Corolla, I did just that.

That night was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Things have been rocky since mom passed away, and after a night of mere breath-per-atement

from my father, I just couldn't take it anymore.

I remember being so angry, I could have cried.

I wasn't thinking straight, I know that now, but I don't regret it.

The lights of the town faded out behind me in the rearview mirror.

I should have been happy, I should have celebrated, called out my friends from out of town, and asked

them to make a spot for me in the couch, or recommend a good motel to crashing.

But as I drove in the dark, all I felt was a crawling dread.

My friends had offered me a place to stay countless times, even just for a night.

I had always turned them down.

I convinced myself that I could do this on my own, that I didn't need anyone's help

to get out of here.

...