Dear SR,
So, after about ninety percent of my first semester of senior year wrapped up, I find myself home again. It oddly feels like it has been quite a while since I’ve been here. Perhaps that’s due to the fact that usually I come back to ******* a few times before the semester break comes about. This time though, I found that every time I had a good opportunity to go home, I chose not to. I either went to a friends house for the time off or decided to stay in my room and spend the weekend alone. As you probably already know, that was never the best idea. Even with that in mind though, I kept gravitating towards isolating myself. Probably has something to do with the headspace I have been in recently. A lot has been weighing on me recently, and with the holidays now arriving at my front door I haven’t been in the best of spirits. As you know I don’t like being that way around others and while I would usually just do my best to put on my usual self, I have been having some trouble with that recently. It probably has to do with some of the things I just listed. Especially the holidays. I’m really not a fan of them as you probably are at least somewhat aware of. On top of that putting on that facade takes a lot out of me. Faking the person you are can only be done for so long with that same level of success. So yeah, I haven’t really wanted to be around others too much even if that seclusion isn’t quite healthy for me.
But as I’m sure you are aware of, Thanksgiving is right around the corner. By that I mean it is tomorrow, so I don’t really have the option to stay back and spend the time alone. Don’t get me wrong its more of the December holidays that I really don’t like, but all of the end of the year festivities are kind of grouped together and it just makes the whole years end kind of crummy. I’m not trying to say I have some kind of disdain for my family or anything. It’s just when this time of year comes around, I feel a certain heaviness that far exceeds that usual stress and frustration I feel on the daily. While I can’t rule out it is my own hangups that make me feel this way, I just get the feeling that when I’m home I’m not “home.”
I just don’t feel like I get that feeling when I’m here. I don’t know if I can say for sure what causes this feeling. Perhaps it’s the actual place. Maybe it has to do with some of the things that come along with being here, or perhaps it is just me and my own thoughts and feelings that come along with my history here. And like I said, it isn’t the fault of anyone in particular. I just can’t picture this place in my head and see the thoughts and emotions that usually come with the feeling of being home. I suppose my perception of this place has just shifted over the years.
At first I thought maybe this is normal. Maybe this is what happens to everyone as they get older and begin to encounter life in the real world; and I do think that happens to a lot of people, but then I started to analyze the feeling I was getting from what I used to call home. It wasn’t a maturing feeling of wanting to push forward, it really was a sort of…dread. It’s not my family’s fault either. Don’t get me wrong our household has some permanent cracks in it when it comes our relationships under this roof, but I think it’s just a feeling fo the place I grew up as a whole.
Part of me wants to think it’s just my yearly batch of depression that makes me think that, but then I look back and realize I haven’t seen this place as more than just a house I live in occasionally from time to time. Maybe that’s okay though. Maybe I can learn to be content with that. I know I’ve certainly tried, but in a quest to seek out some normalcy and calm in my life I just find myself wanting to feel something akin to a home. I want to have the feeling that I can come back to a place and just feel at ease. A place I can feel safe and somewhere I can end each day in and unwind without having hangups about everything that has happened. A safe place I suppose…because I don’t feel safe is the word I would use to describe my current residence. I don’t mean it like I’m in any danger. Just that I feel like things can flip for the worse at any moment.
Putting it all down on the page makes me kind of realize it doesn’t have much to do with the place at all. All that can change if I learn to manage the baggage I carry with me. So I suppose in the end it is a personal issue. I mean I guess if you really think about it, your home really isn’t just defined by the place you rest your head. It’s more about where your family is. You’re friends, your blood, your love; those are what make a place feel more like home than anything else. With that in mind though, why can’t I seem to feel at home when back here in ****? I know the people I really care about are here, and yet I still have this looming feeling when I come back. I already know that we both know what this is though. It probably has to do with the idea that these places for me are intertwined with a plethora of memories and experiences. One’s that leave me with the very mindset that caused me to start this letter in the first place. As wonderful as all the people I choose to surround myself with are, I have always had trouble putting the past away. Actually that’s a bad way to put it. I always put it away to try and put on my usual self, but I never learn to extinguish it and move on. It’s probably one of the things I am the worst at. So I guess what I am saying is all those thoughts infect my head with that sense of dread I mentioned earlier. It’s that feeling that I feel when I come back to this place.
It’s sad to say it, but I don’t feel like I have a place I am happy to call home. This town is just a town. Not my town. This house is just a house. Not my house. This room is just a room. Not my room. This is my home, but it doesn’t feel like home.
love always,
wb