The Long Walk

I an not social enough to be a survivalist, but I have skill sets they envy. IF (Idiot Factor) I am interpreting my flashbacks correctly, I was nearly a feral child who began wandering away from the abuses of home as a toddler. My faith in nature is nearly as old as my experience with the violence of humans. For sure, when my flight instincts kick in, I run to the unpopulated zones, as far from the sight-limiting lights as I can get. I promise that I can escape my urban home completely under the radar. Not a doubt in my mind. I know how to feed myself in any landscape. I have full adult memories of wandering in the desert for days with nothing more than what I was wearing. My faith that nature will provide is absolute, tried and proven.
An ancient tradition of many cultures is for elders in their final years wandering off into the wilderness to end their days wrapped in the mysteries of nature. Are we surprised that I have always admired this custom? Since I have taken my place as the mother figure - the icon of all evil - in the family abuse cycles, the fantasy has walked with me in each and every of my flights into nature. It provides me a comfort I cannot describe.
By contemporary measure, I am decades from the final years. Still, my children are grown. There will probably not be another generation. I am, at the very least, losing myself in fantasies of the long walk. No, not suicide. Life is sacred and death is but a step to whatever is next in the eternal cycle of renewal. I can easily see myself skirting the civilized chaos for decades. Decades or days... It makes no difference to me. Anything seems better than my current existance on the pedestal of maternal evil.