I sneak into people's houses and sleep in their kids' beds

This is something I've never actually admitted to a person before, but I used to break into people's houses and sleep in their kids beds when I was a teenager. I'm reasonably sure it was a result of a combination of my severe mental illnesses (I have a lot, a few of which are PTSD, bipolar disorder, and severe OCD with intrusive thoughts), my awkward home life, and the fact that I was a runaway. I definitely don't do this anymore, and I'm not sorry I did it. Both of those facts are why I'm comfortable talking about it for the first time.<br><br>I grew up in a severely unstable environment. I think at one point I counted over 40 places I've lived. I was also a foster kid for a little while, which can be an story all in its own. For the sake of keeping this relatively short, I won't go into details, other than I got removed from my mother's house for a little while and put into foster care. I ran away from my first foster home and slept in a parking garage. I was found and put into a second home, which I ran away from too. This was when I was 14.<br><br>As a kid, I had an obsessive compulsion of opening every cabinet and drawer anyplace I went. There was something satisfying, and assuring about it. When you live with emotionally abusive, addictive, chronically unemotional people, it's hard to feel like you're safe sometimes. This was a trait I developed early on as a kid, and it stuck with me for a long time. <br><br>When I was at my second foster home, the first thing I did when I got there was my sweep of the house. I was looking for anything, weapons, drugs, alcohol, anything that I could use to defend myself, if need be. My OCD ran so rampantly that I found myself opening everything. I found a toy kitchen in one of the kid's rooms and opened every cabinet. Part of me was expecting to find knives or something, but all I found was toy food. My sweeping turned into Marvin the Martian's research. I opened everything because I was bored, and I was looking for something, but I didn't know what it was. <br><br>Fast forward to me running away, and being on the streets for a little while. I didn't find any food for a couple of nights, and I was so famished my body felt like a skeleton. This was one of the most dangerous times as a runaway. I was hungry, tired, weak, and sick. I had, had nothing to eat in two days, and barely enough water. <br><br>I had been walking for hours, and it was one of those cold winter nights where the wind didn't let up, so it felt even colder than it was. I saw a house with an open garage door. There was one of those little doors in the garage, connecting to the house. My OCD immediately kicked in, and I looked around a bit. No one was outside. I crawled through the open garage and opened the little door. I walked inside, and began my sweep. The house was empty, there was no one else there. <br><br>I found all of the people's private stuff, papers, medicines, everything. I opened every drawer and cabinet, and every closet. I was so exhausted and most of all, I was cold. When I found the kids' rooms, I turned their heat up as high as it would go, and got into their beds. I fell dead asleep in the first room I found. The sheets were warm, the bed was warm, and for the first time I felt safe, and like I got what I deserved. I got to feel like I was a kid again. Even though these weren't my sheets, my bed, or my heat, I felt like I got to experience what it was like to be a normal kid in a stable home, if only for one night. I slept until the next afternoon.<br><br>I felt no guilt over this. I was barely on survival mode at the time. The next few nights, I did the same thing. I'd walk down streets until I saw an open garage. I'd walk inside the garage, and look around the room. If I found a door leading to the house, I'd open it and do my sweep. I'd open every cabinet and drawer, every closet, and find the kid's rooms. I'd turn the heat up, crawl into bed, and sleep until the next afternoon. I felt no guilt. I felt no shame. I was a child. I was surviving. I looked forward to it every night, when I was out searching for food. I'd think of how warm the bed was going to be, even if I was going to go to sleep with a empty stomach. It was the highlight of my night, every night.<br><br>I continued doing this until I found a good shelter. Eventually, I was able to get myself into a group home, and I stayed there until I turned 18, when I turned myself over to independent living. I don't do this anymore, obviously. I hope. <br><br>I don't feel bad about it. I'm not sorry I did it. I think anyone with the life I've had would have done the same thing in my position. I'm not sorry because I know I didn't hurt anyone, or damage anything. This is something my OCD has grown out of, although my intrusive thoughts have not. I do pray that the kids who's beds I slept in didn't grow up with the same life I did. I also pray I didn't disrupt any stable marriages. The last time I did this a couple got home while I was asleep in their Son's bed. I felt bad, got up and left immediately. I never heard anything from the cops over it, so I assume they didn't think of calling the cops over it. I also don't think they ever found out, as the kid didn't wake up while I was there.