As always, I hope you’ve found this post in peace and kindness. For we promote that awesome shit like mad around here. It’s my flip the script series . By flipping the script, I am saying I am going to break my silence. I am going to openly talk about my damage.

First off let me just say a couple things.The content in this post may be disturbing to some. Please exercise caution. It is not mandatory that you must read it. If at any point you’re uncomfortable, please stop here!

There are hundreds of sayings about home. From “Home is where the hearth is” to “Country Roads”. We live in them, we dream as children for the day we have our own…

I apologize for last Wednesdays garbage post. Thing IRL have been very confusing lately, and I am finding myself in bouts of deep seeded depression. This time of year, specifically April -June is a very hard time for me.

I am absolutely a flaming dumpster fire when it comes to communicating about my past and myself. Ask my significant other, “I don’t know” is on the top 5 of my consistent answer list when asked for food suggestions.

Today I would like to address the subject of ‘HOME’. As someone who has always felt alone, I have a very hard time conceptualizing where I should call home.

Traditionally, home is knows as the place for family. A space to call your own- an environment to thrive in. But, what if you thought you knew, and then all the roots are ripped out from under you?

What are you suppose to rely on when you close your eyes for comfort in some far away place?

How does one know when they are accepted and wanted, as part of a home?

These are real and valid emotions and questions. All of them I have pondered many, many, many times. Still -to the day- I am pondering.

If I’m being completely honest, I’ve all but given up trying to build one. There are multiple times I’ve had an amazing start and everything comes crashing down. The whole idea is hopeless and not meant for me.

You see, I thought for many years that Tacoma was my home. I’d tell everyone how beautiful the tall Evergreens at Point Defiance were, and now I had two favorite spots. It was along six mile drive. There was this little spot where you could park you car, just past the dilapidated Enchanted Forest of my youth. Wonder around the back of Humpty Dumpty and there is the perfect sitting rock. Sit in the center and you can feel the crashing of the Puget Sound against the Northern Cliffside. The other was above Owens Beach and Anthony’s On The Point. I’d get so frustrated as a kid, I’d hop the bus that stopped just outside my house and ride until I got there. It took about 40 minutes and I had to transfer busses once. When I got into High School, I’d drive or catch a ride with H. This was back before palm held smartphones were a thing, so it was the oldschool gps. I knew my mother was checking the mileage but, it came to a point where I was willing to get screamed at and grounded for a moment of peace. In a way, it is that part of Tacoma I considered home as the tears roll down my cheeks.

Remembering Tacoma is painful. It is the symbol of everything I lost. It is the place I was abandoned. It’s the place attached to all the memories from the family I used to have.

Then, West Virginia. Some of my most precious memories live there. It’s where I had my beautiful daughter A. It’s where my son continues to thrive and grow. It’s times like this, when I’m sitting in a ball crying that I wish I had never left. I miss them so badly, all the time. I am forunate that I get to hear from them multiple times a day. Yes, I use Snapchat with my kids. Judge if you want but I trust them enough to not be morons and they haven’t proven me wrong yet. My kids are my best friends.

Outside of them, West Virginia is also beautiful in scenery. Yet, so dark and depressed in reality. For 10 years, I was proud to call Pinch my home. I loved my townhome next to the horse pasture. The summer fire carnival, where all your friends and their kids would be. It was a sense of community, and for the first time I felt like someone of value. But like all thing in my life, I reached a place of peace and caring. I took another under my roof so that he wouldn’t suffer. It landed me on the side of the road in the end. West Virginia is nothing more than 17 years of loneliness, longing and learning to live without the comforts of the city. Again, another broken home.

Now I am in Arizona. I’ve been here for a year. I am surviving here, but I don’t feel like this either is my home. In a city larger than the whole of Los Angeles, housing 1.4 million people one would figure they fit in somewhere. To date, I still feel like a stranger to those who live in the same square footage of me. I don’t make friends easily, and when I do it’s only while I’m in their presence. Everyone has a life, I get it. I just wish I could be included. It’s depressing when you pay for a phone only in the hopes one day it will ring.

Flipping the Script on this one is going to take a blessed miracle. Although, I am trying. I still feel very out of place and alone. It’s hard to understand the comfort of home, when you’ve never truly had one. I don’t like being lost, and although I’ve found my bio family- I’ll never get the answers to make me feel whole- for both parents are dead and any remaining individuals who knew they refuse to believe I exist.

Moving on to tomorrow with a little more hope. Good day-🍋💋