Shortly after the incident with the pastor I had a mini-meltdown. People have asked me why I stayed and the only thing I can say is that I never knew what a “normal” relationship was. My mother’s relationship with my father ended when he cheated on her. Her relationship with my stepfather ended when he tried to kill her on Christmas Eve. My father’s relationship with my step-mother was no better, she was cheating on him and they had thrown me out after having me institutionalized. The only “norm” I had was my grandparents and I was too far gone by then to know they were a positive model. Bruce had a way of talking to people.He could con anyone out of anything. I remember him coming home and telling me we were moving soon. Where? Wellington. Wellington? How in the hell can we afford to live in Wellington? Back in the day, Wellington was the “west” Palm Beach, where the horses where, polo, big money, land. It still is. We had NO business in Wellington. It turns out he had made some connections at the radio station, met a good christian man who had some duplexes out in Guilford Villas and was going to rent one to us. He also met another older man, I don’t remember his name, but he was elderly with an artificial leg. He could no longer do things for himself, didn’t have family and Bruce had weaseled his way into this man’s life. He would help him run errands and take him to doctor’s appointments. This man was going to give us the use of his car so I could keep my job at the dollar store when we moved. I was thrilled to have some freedom. When we moved out of the shelter we had nothing but our personal belongings to take with us. It was an easy move. I was excited to have my own place and my family lived in Royal Palm Beach,so we would be close to each other. My family helped us out by going to garage sales and picking up pieces of furniture here and there and by rifling through their own belongings and donating to my new house. I had my own place. I wasn’t in a homeless shelter anymore. I was in Wellington. WELLINGTON. The Jefferson’s theme song played in my head….I was movin’ on up. I would be homeless again within the year. Dummy, this is my life….how could I think Wellington was meant for me.
Published by christiepage "pando pandemonium"
Confessions of a mad mind~ Author of A Practical Guide to Forgiveness from an Impractical Survivor and She was the Stuff of Stars, Christie Page was born in Falmouth, Massachusetts. She lived in the Nobska Point Lighthouse with her mother and father who were stationed there as a result of his service in the Coast Guard. Shortly after the family made their way to West Palm Beach, Florida where she grew up continuing her love affair with the ocean. She has two children Joshua 26 and Laura 24 and currently resides in South Florida. In 2015 Christie left her twenty year medical career to pursue her passion for writing full time and has been featured in the world’s largest mindful living publications including Chicken Soup for the Soul, elephant journal, Sivana East, Thirty on Tap and The Urban Howl. She was also a feature columnist for Controlled Chaos magazine. An active yogi, hoop dancing enthusiast and self-proclaimed whiskey chick, she is a third generation breast cancer survivor, recovering anorexic/bulimic and is on life six or seven of her nine lives. She has been homeless and sheltered, rich and poor, loved and hated and believes her experiences have lead her down a path of spiritual exploration and awakenings. Christie wishes to share her journey with others in an attempt to come to peace. She writes to clear space from the rolodex that is her muddled mind. Christie View all posts by christiepage "pando pandemonium"