I'm having mixed feelings of being home. My mom's faint memory is still vivid. The hurt of when she left. The confusion of Linda. The half-fast-ness of my uncle. And my constant popping in and out of reality.
Coming home is always hard. It's a bittersweet moment. I love being with friends and family. But the tormenting memories make me numb.
Why does life have to be so hard?
Being in Texas, everything that hurt me seems like a bad dream. Like it wasn't real. Like it didn't happen. But being home. Sitting in my room. Walking the halls. Everything floods back. It seems like it just happened.
The yelling. The screaming. The hitting. The cursing. Ducking. Running. Hiding in my room for safety. Waiting for everyone to fall asleep so I could go to the restroom or get food.
Everything is screaming at me in my face. And I'm left with the decision of letting it consume me like always or standing strong and fighting it.
I think I'm strong enough now - to at least try...
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