The Disbanders

Chapter 31: Freedom

June 2019

The last month has been one of the most interesting times in my life that I have ever gone through. It's been like nothing else I have ever experienced before. If I were to say only one thing about it, it's allowed me to learn more about myself, and reflect about many things and people who impacted my life.

When I was in the woods, I found myself living life on "pause", almost as if I were trapped in some dream. Sometimes, nothing up until a month ago, even feels real. However, once in a while, I'm brought out of that fantasy and am reminded that it all really happened.

I've also thought a lot about Sharon. She was in my life for such a short amount of time, and yet, she managed to change the way I see it. I knew deep down that she was right about me needing to move past this. I still can't say that I forgive my parents, though. I may not hang onto the anger in the same way, but I don't wish them well. I won't forget how they treated me, ever. Sharon still helped me bridge my path of healing. Not for my parents, but for myself.

The only thing my parents did that I'll remember positively was force me out of the house, and indirectly send me off to have a new experience. I wasn't the same person leaving those woods as I was when I first entered it.

Despite the challenges, I don't regret having gone through everything out there. I don't regret having met Will, Alexa, Hayden, Evie or Chuck. They added to my life, and showed me what love and friendship truly felt like. Even with how everything ended, I will always remember them for that. They were my first real family, and were exactly what I needed at the moment. They'll always be a part of me, and I'll always love them deep in my heart––even when my desire for real life and ambition overcame me in the end.

    My grandmother, like Sharon, doesn't know the things I went through in the woods, and I don't think she ever will. It's not for me to tell. She did, however, put me in extensive therapy shortly after I landed on her doorstep, as often as three times a week. I was very reluctant at first, but then came to trust my therapist.

She's the first person I've told anything to about the woods, but leaving out all incriminating details––among many other things. Admittedly, it's helped me to tell at least one person about it, knowing it won't spread anywhere. I did it to prove why being in the real world is so hard for me, since I haven't had real contact with many people in the past year. In response, she's been mainly helping me rebuild social skills and feel better about the world around me. I've got a long way to go, but one day, I'll get there.

I'm even going to start school in September, entering Grade 10, which I missed this past year. That will be hard, I'm sure, but it will bring me closer to the path of education and my dream job in medicine.

Another person who's come to my mind recently is Jessica. Slowly, as I continue to do more medical research, already planning steps in my life to become a doctor, the association between it and her fades more with each passing day. I can carry out my curiosity and quest for this field of knowledge alone. I will, however, have to accept not having closure for that part of my life, of why she chose to leave me. I'd still rather live with that than ever see her again.

    I've been so grateful to have my grandmother back, and in many ways, she hasn't changed much. The only true difference is how she responds to any conversation about my parents. She's become far more cold about it, towards them. She acts as though her son has died. In a way, she's right––he did a long time ago, as did my mother, in their true selves.

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    At times, my habits of the woods still present themselves in my day-to-day life. It took me two weeks to stop searching for a water bucket to fill up, or to start building a fire outside. Luckily, my grandmother hasn't noticed. I find myself using way less soap, toothpaste, water–anything––than I could, before reminding myself that I can use more. It still feels wasteful sometimes to take more than the bare minimum of a resource. I often have no idea how I've let myself live that way for so long.