When you move home after years of being on your own, its a hard adjustment. Living with family is different then living with strangers, either way you forget who you are. When you’re on your own, you’re a different person. You can be yourself and your only responsibility is to yourself. It’s hard to come home and regain that life you had before. You’ve been places, you’ve seen things, and no matter where you have been, home is suppose to be home. You lose your independence when your only sense of privacy is the four walls of your own room. I could tell myself this is home until I am blue in the face but this isn’t home. I can’t help but feel like a stranger passing though. When you’ve been on your own it’s a hard realization that this is reality. This is what happens when you make false moves and fail miserably. You answered to no one on your own and now you’re answering millions of questions that fall upon deaf ears.

This isn’t a home. It’s just a place I make my bed just as I had done with the rest of my mistakes. This isn’t my house when I lost the sense of comfort in my own misery. The longer I shut the blinds to shield myself from the sun, the longer I continue into this darkness. This sense of failure that looms over me. I find myself laying awake at night, trying to focus on the ceiling. Where did I go wrong? What is the purpose of this existence, if all I do is fail and come home? All of my belongings are nostalgic memories of the past I no longer want. Accumulating mountains of bullshit currency in these belongings I no longer need. I just want to get rid of everything. Every last bit of these failed memories and feel like this is a home. I know it will never happen and I know that deep down letting everything go would only bring forth the madness within.

I’ve driven past every memory of this hometown. Driven past the reminders of the past and the stories that come with them. Every street, every street light, everything. This doesn’t feel like home to me. While I have been raised here, it’s not home to me. Life was different when I was on my own and alone. Not I am just alone and filled with everyone expectations of what my life should be. When can I go home? Where is my home? I could pick up the pieces and start again but the dark cloud always looms over me. Give it a moment before it starts to fall apart again and back to packing our bags and moving vans.

I need to leave this town to feel better. I need to get back on my feet and find my home again. Its hard to adjust once the comfort of home comes over you. Is this comfort or is this settling? Beats me. I just want to find that place that belongs to me where I feel at home. But where is home? If it’s not here, then where.

Where do I belong.


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