I told my best friend who let’s call… Margie. I told Margie that I was sick of taking care of myself. Sick of being mature. For a little bit I just wanted someone else to take care of me. And her response was “Well, you’ll be home soon.” Oh yes, hand made blankets, warm walls, comfort food, and sunshine smiles.
Sure home is nice and everything, but you reach a point when you can’t really just let someone else take care of you anymore. You can’t just let go and relax, sure you can sleep in for hours but there is no more letting other people stress about you. Because then you stress, about them stressing. Nor can you let someone take care of you, because your old enough to take care of yourself, so put away your dishes, do your own laundry, and clean up after yourself.
Not only is home not as comforting as I needed, being home brings other forms of suck around. For instance back at college when I have a bad day and spend the entire day crying and being sad, it’s okay because logically I’m saying that I’m doing this to get better. But back home? I’ve already cried in this exact same bed before. I’ve already spent nights awake in this exact same couch. I’ve already shaken and cried in these places and I’m doing this so I don’t have that anymore. Therefore making me feel like I’m right back where I started, and I’m getting sick of square one.
Being home is nice, but it’s not comforting to me right now, and maybe it won’t be for a long while. My heart just heavies.
If the names are ever getting confusing don’t worry. I added a “Who’s who” link to clerify it, and no who’s not on first. *Insert bad pun noise now*