29 June 2012
I felt compelled to move back to the area I grew up, like a salmon or some other home seeking animal. My alopecia kicked back in and I needed familiar turf. But why? Was I that misguided in thinking I was strong enough to live down the road from that house? To be able to see if from my window?
My little immediate world is like a living purgatory. Caught between the heaven and safe haven of the house I grew up in, and the house where my eyes were opened at the age of six. It was then I learnt my worth. My purpose.
I can remember limping off home across the car park, racking my brain as to some excuse to go straight to my room. My mother was not to know, she'd be disgusted in me. Mid way through berating myself for not screaming or fighting (again) a weight lifted from my shoulders, a small weight. To be honest, any ease in pressure at that time was welcomed. I had reached the grass bank that led down to my house. It was like crossing a threshold between danger and safety. I looked back and stared at the normal looking 2 bed semi detached. It hid some awful secrets. Reminding myself to breath, I carried on.
Since then I've just been breathing. Just keep breathing.
Purgatory • Opuss № I