It’s weekends like these that remind me why I hate coming home.
When I’m at home, I’m not in control of my life. When I’m home I’m not the person I am, I’m the person I was. At home, I’m feel trapped, literally and emotionally. It doesn’t help that everything bad happens when I’m at home.
I guess things change. People change. For the worse, and for the better. And there’s not an easy way to tell if change is good, or change is bad. They both sound like something people would say.
It’s slow change that’s the worst, not fast change. If change happens fast, it lets you get used to it. When it happens slowly, you stretch out the pain. And you might not realize it’s happening until it’s too late.
Examples: Aging. Wading into a frigid pond. Growing apart from a friend. Changing your personality. A school year ending. Breakups.
Sometimes it has to be like a band-aid. Swift and sharp.
I wish when I changed it would be like that. Brisk, yet piercing.
At least then somebody might notice.
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