I’m NOT Home
I really feel the need to write this tonight. You see, there are times to be comfortable; slipping into pjs and drinking hot tea or wine playing music and finding yourself.
Then there are times to be honest with one self. Tonight is just that kind of night.
First and foremost I must say that this, this is being written cause I feel alone. Not because I am actually alone. This Christmas eve I was surrounded by family and complete ignored. I had my “fleabag” moment, like that dinner table scene where he kept narrating how no one asked the MC for 45 min questions about her life.
For me, this was my night. The only person who did not ignore me was a family member I was not particular close to. But he listed, when he said for me to continue and that he was actively listening to me. I felt relief to know that I was still here. That I wasn't some ghost at the table or invisible. I appreciated that he engaged in my conversation.
I never felt more alone that coming back to my home town. To coming what I use to call home. For me though, “home” changed, the meaning of what I defined as “home” changed.
“Home” is no longer a place that I was born in. Home is not where my family is. Home is where I feel at peace. Home is warm, calming, loving; Home listens and answers.
It is not a place where one should feel like they are in world war III, surrounded by chaos and concealing pain. That’s not a home, that’s an illness.
I felt estranged in this place I called called home for years. This is the first year, the first time I didn't consider it home. I now call home the place I share with my friends. My friends I consider more vital than any other relationship. Home is where they are. Where they would include me in conversations. Not where I’ll be ignored.
Home is not always the place you are born into, sometimes home is where you find it.
