Being back at home seemed surreal. Mother unsuccessful tried treating me as if I was normal. But, each time she looked at my slashed up body, I became more and more convinced that it wouldn't be long before she would drop me off at the mental home. Let them take care of me, it was just "too much to handle" for her.
That's why, on the third day, I escaped. After Mother had gone to sleep, I snuck out my first floor bedroom window. It's been at least a year since I've been able to think clearly, so it did not occur to me that I should have brought food, clothing, or money with me. I just ran. I ran until I could run no longer, and then I walked, through the night, through the morning, just kept moving,
I would not go back to the mental home.