Unfortunately, doctors happened to be expensive, and it would not be easy getting in to see one on a fixed income.
You’re fine, my conscience kept trying to convince me after looking up typical first-time patient visits online. Why do you even have to go to the doctor? Aren’t you getting worked up for no reason?
That was the point, though. I was, in fact, getting myself worked up for no reason, and that was not normal.
But, then again, what was normal? Was any of what I was experiencing normal? On one hand, you could say that the college experience—being out on my own, living in a dorm, managing my own money, my own bills—was, in fact, as normal as it could possibly be. But having to flee my home in the early hours of the morning? After having been screamed at and a plate thrown at my head? Was that normal?
In the end, I came to only one conclusion:
The answer was no.
No. This wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be. Because for this to be normal, I would’ve had to leave home on good terms, have moved away of my own volition, not have been scared that I wouldn’t survive the night and then call my cousin only to have them question why, exactly, I was leaving.
For any of this to be normal, for any of this to be sane, I would’ve had to not been afraid.
That six-letter word was what had governed my life for the longest time—but, I decided, would no longer.
With that in mind, I turned to looking up county assistance programs.