“that idea of home is gone”

“You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of the sudden, even though you have some place where you can put your stuff, that idea of home is gone.” – Garden State

I remember the exact moment that it happened to me. I stood in my bedroom for the last time, staring at the empty room. The only things that remained were the cupboards, painted green, and the pink striped wallpaper that lined the room. I’d wanted it to look like a princesses room, once upon a time. I’d had a giant bed, a duvet covered in roses. My pillows were large and suffocating, but comfortable. Now my bed was gone, the many times I’d spent playing and reading on top of it just memories. The vanity that I’d kept all my childhood jewelry and make up left an empty crevice in the side of the room, the cupboard under the stairs no longer full of stuffed animals. I’d hidden under those once, disappeared so far that my parents had thought I’d run away, when truly I’d just fallen asleep buried under bears and used a stuffed duck as a pillow. I realized then that I would never be able to hide that well ever again.

I cried for hours. I stood in my bedroom and cried, trying so hard to feel the edges of the bed that had once been there. They told me I could stand there for as long as I wanted, but if it had been up to me, I never would have left. I would have grown roots, forced my way through the floorboards, turned myself into the foundation. I never would have moved from that place. I never much wanted to say goodbye.

farscape, energy work, and other things

Hi again, dearest blog. I know I was just writing in you, but I feel the need to do so again. I’m not sure what for, considering the fact that there isn’t really all that much to say…but there’s also no point in not writing if I feel like it.

Perhaps that’s some of the issue – I don’t write when I feel like it. It’s something I should get used to. Something I should start doing again, in fact. I write because I enjoy it and because I love it. I have so many stories in my head that I wish to get down on paper – virtual paper, I suppose – but I never do. Instead they linger and bottle up inside of me and all of them want to overflow at once. I’m still trying to learn how to narrow them down, filter them out, one story and character at a time.

Sometimes they all come out, and I realize that some characters don’t fit anymore. Some characters started out in a story that they were never supposed to be in. Some ended up growing to the point where they no longer work in their original story. How do I sort them out, the stories from the characters?

How do I sort myself out, the person I am from the person I strive to be?