As the holiday season approaches, everyone is making plans to head home. To see their parents, cuddle their pets, annoy (torment) their siblings to make up for lost time , see their highschool best friends, and so much more.
I, on the other hand, am terrified to go home.
The idea of going home paralyzes me with fear. Home has playgrounds that hold laughter from a different age. Home has curbs I used to lightly tap with my car. Home has screams and giggles of my best friends on Friday nights. Home has hills my siblings and I slid down on snow days. Home has roads with twists and turns I took to search for answers about my sexuality. Home has a church that tried to tell me I needed saving when I just needed a hug. Home has tears I’ve shed at every corner out of fear, sadness, joy, and pain. Home has blood shed at the expense of my innocence and hope. Home has people that have changed the trajectory of my life, for better or for worse. Home has a version of myself I am scared to revisit.
I am terrified to go home.
Going home means having to confront a past I’ve spent my entire time at college running away from. It feels like it will be a step backwards after trying so hard to sprint forward. After coming to college, I began reconstructing an entire belief system I upheld for 19 years. I am still reshaping how I view myself, my family, and the world. Every possible step I take towards my hometown’s city limits feels like a step away from the future I am desperately trying to piece together. I worry I’ll return to being a prisoner of a small town, trapped by reminders of a Great War I’ve fought with myself for 12 years. I am not prepared to wince at the sight of my favorite coffee shop that continues to keep secrets shared between my best friends. The idea of possibly running into former friends that are former friends for a reason makes my stomach churn. Imagining running into my ex at a party makes my knees weak and my head swirl. Driving past the soccer fields and seeing kids at ages I wish to be again makes my heart ache.
I am terrified to go home.
I love and miss my friends dearly but the idea of breathing in the same air we did just a few months ago makes my blood run cold. Returning home will open wounds that seem to never heal with time. What if I return home and submerge into the misery my four bedroom walls brought? What if I default back to bad habits? Will I be able to resist the urge of lighting up a cig in order to forget every hurtful word spit at me? I look at the girl I was with both feet planted in June. Her smile was brighter than the whole sky and I love her. I loved her. But it’s time for her to rest in peace.
I am terrified to go home.