House or home

Hello bloggers,

I have come about a realisation that has put me in utter shock.
I feel as though I have finally made one step closer to the final, best version of me.

Over the past 12 months I have pondered on the thought, "will a house ever be a home for me anymore?"
Honestly, it left me saddened by being unsure of this verdict.

Here I am, at my mother's house. I'm staying here for a few days.
I always thought that if I were to be back here,  I'd be scared to ever leave again.

Though even now, I'm in agony by the lies and secrets she still upholds and the excuses she makes for not being a better person.

I am home sick.

Home sick for my new home. Not my mother's.

I realised that she was wasn't my home. Even before the raid I had cried out for a home that would better heal me, rather than destroy me.

I never really understood her or her madness. Only now am I to understand how I feel about it all myself.

Discovery ago viewers,
I discovered a part of myself today.

A home is where you feel comfortable in.

A home is a place of people you can trust.

I used to cry out to my mother when I'd have a break down in recent months of 2015.

Eventually it was only anger that sprouted and love that withered.

Now I'm just waiting to be my own person again and I'm thankful of the lesson I have just learnt.

My mother wasn't what I was seeking, it was love.