[종촌2] 외부지문5.pdf

Diary 97 Separation anxiety I feel as though chaos is stalking me, sliding its slimy tentacles into every crevice of my life. It has already conquered my home life; now it’s trying to destroy the Freedom Writers, too. Every time I begin to get comfortable, someone goes and changes the rules on m...

Diary 97 Separation anxiety I feel as though chaos is stalking me, sliding its slimy tentacles into every crevice of my life. It has already conquered my home life; now it’s trying to destroy the Freedom Writers, too. Every time I begin to get comfortable, someone goes and changes the rules on me. The whole reason I came to Wilson in the first place was to escape the uncontrolled environment I was raised in—if “raising” is what you call it. My mother's parenting capabilities consisted of, “I’ll give you twenty dollars and the keys to my car if you leave me alone this weekend.” It wasn't that she was a bad mother; she “was just tired of playing the role of mother,” as she so bluntly told me one morning. How could she teach me to be responsible if she wasn't responsible herself? Maybe it was her drinking; maybe it was her drugs; maybe it was me. All I know is that absolute and complete freedom gets old very fast. My mother was simply tired of raising me, so I raised myself. There would be times I wouldn’t see my mom for days, even weeks. Sure, I always knew where she was, but that was never the same thing as having a real parent there. I missed the little things; curfews and rules were nonexistent. Whenever I asked her when I had to be home, she would reply, “By Monday,” even if it was Friday. Imagine being fifteen years old and feeling as though your own mother never cared about you. I not only wanted guidance but needed it.  After a while, I would give myself curfews so that people wouldn't know my mother was oblivious. It was hard to raise yourself. If it was easy, then we wouldn’t have parents. But we do, or most people do at least. I began to feel so alone. All my life it had been my mom and me, and now it was just me. I became very depressed, escaping reality any way I could. The Freedom Writers filled this huge hole I had by giving me a safe place where I always knew someone cared. We might not be able to be a class next year. Losing these people would be like losing a part of my family. I can’t go through that again.