Going Home
I’ve had this blog for so long. It’s a sad, funny, depressing little time capsule of my past thoughts. I’m embarrassed but mostly fascinated.
Fascinated with how i chose to express myself. Fascinated that I’ve been feeling my way through the darkness a long time now. In highschool, it was new. After graduation, I was learning how my depression would fit into my newfound adulthood. And now, I’m mostly in a state of acceptance. Though, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get hard.
I’ve been visiting home for the past month, 2 more weeks to go. My sister gets married soon. Weddings don’t really happen in our family, just funerals. So, this feels symbolically special.
Coming home is coming home to these old bad feelings. They feel ancient sometimes.
I wanted to die. I wanted a friend. I wanted to live but really live.
I found friends. I found a life I feel proud of. And yet, the darkness looms. Waiting for a moment of weakness. And in those moments of weakness, I wonder how far I’ll really get.
I feel like a good person, a bad person. An evil person. And I also feel so god damn generous. It isn’t one thing.
I never thought I’d get out of here. i dreamed about it all the time, but I didn’t know how I’d do it. Turns out, all I had to do was walk out the door and never look back. i’ve done that, I’ve lived on the East Coast and I’m now in Toronto producing radio for a national arts show.
Coming home feels like time travel. And the time I always go back to hurts, but every now and again, a glimmer of innocence rears it’s head. And I’m reminded of the long life I lived to get somewhere... I wanted to go.
I’ve had this blog since I was 16.
I’m 26 now.
