by Mike Kennon

Created on: December 12, 2008   Last Updated: January 08, 2009

Inspired to Write a Book About Being a Runaway

Thought maybe I should start visiting my demons again. For the first time I am not afraid, but rather encouraged by the idea that I am no longer running away from my problems or hiding from anything.

While now blessed with what I have achieved in my life and in my personal, family and business relationships, things were much different at one time. Drugs and other dependencies took over my life to the point that I could not accept help when it was offered, nor could I stop running away from a past that haunted me.

At 46, my memory is not what it once was; brain cells left at too many clubs and too many nights of indulgence, but the remnants of the feelings still remain. I cannot fathom how I survived and know that someone was watching out for me. I find myself wanting to document. Wanting to put the pieces together to help myself and to maybe help someone else. Surely, I could not have lived through what I did without a concrete reason for it happening. And even with things being as good as they are, I still screw up.

This year, I was inspired by a young lady to write a novel. My inspiration, unfortunately, was from a young lady that was running away from home, doing heavy drugs, having sex with multiple partners, into criminal activities and was just 13 years old. Her mother seemed grateful for what I am sharing and promotes my efforts. I even have a vision of sharing this story with this young lady by my side doing interviews and sharing our testimonies together. After I had finally finished the story and was published, I sent her a copy. I received a card back from her mother. Here's what it said

"just received a copy of the book yesterday with a personal inscription from the author. She's highly impressed that she has inspired someone to do something like write a book. It made her realize how special she is to the world. I'm very thankful that she is no longer that 13 year old described. It's been a long road."

She wanted to share this with others as "it may help someone see the light at the other end of the tunnel and know that it's not a freight train."

But it is my honor and privilege to write this story. As a matter of fact, it is a true miracle I am here to share it today.

In 1972, my father died of a brain tumor. Two years later my mother remarried a man that started beating me and was verbally abusive. By age 12, I was running away. By age 14, I was hitchhiking out in California, got picked up by a truck driver

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