any place but home

I wish I wasn't home... yet home is where I'm at. It's a sad state of affairs when you feel like you're out of place in the very location you've lived for the past twenty-eight odd years.

Maybe it's not fair to say I wish I wasn't home 'coz I do love my house. It's just one occupant in this household that makes things very uneasy, uncomfortable, and unsettling. Everytime I'm home, my heart aches with sadness... and yet on the outside, there's nothing to go to.

Where can you feel at home if it's not home? You want to move out but at the same time you know they'd discourage you 'coz the house is too big as it is, minus one, the silence grows. But it doesn't make much of a difference I feel. I'm practically a hermit in my own room. Preferring the solitude and silence (except for the typing of the keys on the comp and my air-con). I reckon if I had a tv and a fridge in my room, there'd be no reason to leave it. No reason to take a walk downstairs to check on the other living organisms around.

Home should be the place you run to when you feel lost and insecure, yet home is where I run from to not feel lost and insecure.

I like my house best when I'm alone. When there's no one home but me. Some people can't stand the thought of being alone in a large space all by themselves but I cherish it. It is the most comfortable, secure feeling you can possibly have. Within the walls that keep you in from the outside world, lies communication methods that link you to the outside world. Irony huh? Being on the inside but connecting to the outside?

These walls have heard my cries, my screams, my agony, my pain, my laughter, my joy (which of there were few), but mostly the silence of my solitude. The times I've leaned on it 'coz I couldn't stand anymore from physical weakness, or for mere support upon thoughts and reflection. The anguish, sufferings of a broken-spirited child. How I turned out as I have, is beyond me.

Sometimes I wish I was more angry with the world, more raged, more violent... but those who know me, unfortunately also know that it is not in me to be all that. But why not? I have enough to be upset about, yet the need to rebel escapes me. I don't see a point. Or maybe I just don't see how it would do any good when the person I would hurt eventually is not them, it's me. I'd only..... end up..... hurting..... me.

I wish I wasn't me... yet me is who I am.

Home is where I am physically... my soul has yet to find its way.