This is another raw piece written anonymously. 

If you feel you are affected by a parent that drinks too much, Nacoa are always on hand to offer help and support. If you would like post on this site then please get in touch. 



I remember the first time I ever ran away from home.
I remember the adrenaline I felt, my heart thumping so loud it felt like the sound was in my ears & my heart was on the outside of my chest

It took weeks of planning, my little inner voice (she was the brave one) telling me what to do and how to do it, I had to listen to her, if I didn’t run away I was going to die, I didn’t believe my body could take another beating.

The weeks leading up to my first runaway was so awful that even now, while I’m typing my stomach is knotting into a big anxiety ball.

I hadn’t been eating my meals,cI physically couldn’t eat when I was around my mother, I hadn’t known then what I know now, but it’s clearer now that I couldn’t or didn’t eat 1. Because food was the only thing I had control of & 2. I had awful anxiety.
Of course this infuriated my mum even more, so she had an actual reason for her beatings other than her own made up reasons.

The first attack leading up to my runaway involved my mum hitting me really hard on the top of my head with a dust pan brush, I remember feeling a sting, but it wasn’t awful pain, then I watched as my mums expression changed from an angry seething, foaming at the mouth to a worried expression.

I didn’t even panic at the warm trickle of blood that started running down my forehead, into the corner of my eye then down my face….all I could see was my mums worried expression, worried..? My mum was worried, instantly I clinged onto the fact that my mum was showing a “maternal” emotion towards me, ah she does love me, she does actually care….

The next vicious attack she wasn’t so sympathetic to my pain, even to this day I can’t remember why she kicked me really hard in the mouth while wearing her boots, blood everywhere, I waited for the guilt, or her to clean me up like before, it never came, I was screamed at for getting blood on the carpet, sent upstairs to clean up the mess “I had made”.

To this day I bare the scar inside my mouth, I was kicked so hard the frenulum was torn completely in half. (The skin between your gum & upper lip)

That’s when I plotted my escape.

I got up as usual, did all my chores, got ready for school, then waited…waited to hear the noise of the shower being switched on, then I snuck out the back door, through the side gate & ran…I ran as fast as I could, it was amazing!For the first time I felt like I could breath.

It was about 8am, I went to the shops near school, walked about feeling totally free & proud of myself

“I did it, I escaped”

Then I hid at a local park, watched as my friends parents waved goodbye to their children as school started.

“By now she must know I’ve gone”

Hours went by, there was a lot of police presence about, finally I was found, taken home to my mum who was “worried sick”. I was told by police what a naughty child I was & of all the dangers I could have faced.

Little did they know that they was about to drop me off back into the danger zone, like throwing a lamb to a wild animal.

I was too scared to tell them though as I was in enough trouble.

My mum was waiting eagerly at the front door,embraced me into her arms, told me it was all going to be ok now, at least I was safe…

That hug felt good…

I ran upstairs and got into the bath that she had run for me, I felt good, I mean…she hugged me, maybe all she needed was a reminder of what It would have been like to lose me…

I heard her say ‘bye’ and ‘thank you’ to the police officers that had brought her daughter back to her…she sounded so relieved…

I heard her steps coming up the stairs.

I smiled as she walked into the bathroom, my smile was short-lived, as her face twisted up, I knew what was coming.

She grabbed me by her hair and held me under the bath water, then up, then under, she done this until my legs stopped kicking and my lungs started to burn, I was then dragged from the bathtub, her fingers squished my cheeks in as she pressed her face against mine…

“You ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll kill you myself….”

That was the first of many runaways to come

I was 9.