home

is this place that I made myself. I didnt build it, but it was my safe place my cocoon where I can cry, dance, or just be. It took me fucking 6 years to build that place and I fucking loved it protected it with all my being.

Its not tied to an address but its the bed that hugs and comforts me, the candles that soothe all my troubles, its everything that’s mine and no one else’s. It has no past and no unpleasant memories tied to it.

Today it feels so suffocating and I’ve never wanted to be anywhere but here more. Anywhere but where my safe place used to be.

I feel violated, and I just have this visceral nauseous feeling.

I dont feel safe, just like that place years ago, whichever house it was. It feels hostile. A fuck lot of quiet tears muted into a pillow at 2 am. No one on my side, not even myself cuz what could I have done being a financially dependent teenager?

I thought I left that place a long time ago. I didn’t know it could follow me here half way across the globe, blurs the line with my beautiful world and engulfs me in that fear and oppression.

My body feels it. My face suddenly breaks out in a rash. My skin stings. My breaths shallow and short. My shoulders tensed up like knots.

That night when I walked out, maybe I was naive, but being out on the street alone at night didn’t faze me, cuz the scariest place to me at that time I just closed the door and turned my back to. I felt at peace honestly, I felt like I would be fine. Better off.

She was holding a lid while voices were raised this morning and i flinched.

Is it the place or is it the person?