What do you do when the place you call home is not the place it used to be? Maybe just not the place you were lead to believe.
As you grow up, it's funny how many things parents hid from you. The inner workings of their relationship kept secret behind locked doors or after 9 pm when you were finally asleep. Now, all of the dirty secrets fall out one private talk at a time. And you're meant to be old enough to handle it, old enough for it not to affect you emotionally, psychologically, anymore. But, what if I'm not? Because, honestly, I don't think I am. I wouldn't mind some sheltering, some moments hidden, so I wouldn't have to openly ignore it all of the time.
There's still part of me that wants, desperately, to hold on to some good household memory. Would it be terrible for them to leave me with one? Staying won't let that happen. Staying here has slowly become a dwindling option. Because fighting every moment of the day, every half hour I'm home, is not home anymore. It's just an ongoing battle that I am coming to realize I don't have to suit up for if I really don't want to.
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