Hiraeth!
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WpMetadataReadContenu pour adultesEn cours d'écriture<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeDernière publication mar., mars 12, 2019
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Fiction
Thèmes Sociaux
//Hiraeth// There is no other way to explain homesickness for a home that most likely can never be returned to. Or perhaps the longing for a non - existent home. If all honesty must come forth, I might as well say it loud and clear; many people live in houses. But it is, as sad as it sounds, very uncommon for someone to have a home. I had a home once. We all did. But alot of things happen as you grow up. People change. People lie. Trauma occurs. Trauma passes. All it takes is one event, to bring people together. It brings people together who swore to themselves they would never speak again. Sometimes it's for the best. Most of the time it isn't. It'll seem like nothing is a good thing, if you're watching over life with a pessimistic view.
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"There comes a point where you no longer care if there's a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel." - Who I am doesn't matter. How I got here doesn't matter. What matters now is I'm getting help, right? That's what they tell me here. They tell me that the road to recovery feels like a terrible butt fuck, but the fact that you're on the path to begin with, is all that matters. So as I sit in this circle of fuck ups, I realize just how different I am from them. I didn't attempt suicide because my mother was a crack addict who didn't want me. My father wasn't abusive. I didn't have a sibling die in a car accident. I was never really bullied either. I attempted suicide because, for the first time in years, I thought I had found something that could make me feel again... and after not feeling much at all for far too long, perhaps I went a bit overboard

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