It's funny how little I remember about my life. Sometimes at the end of the day, I think a person remembers so little about their life, they forget they are living.
I just went through my high school yearbook. 7 years later, and I couldn't remember a damn face. Well, some faces, but I was surprised to find that I didn't recognize a few people I was close with. Have I been trying so hard not to remember my life that I've actually succeeded?
There are times I want to remember. I wish I could take all 21 years and relive them, but write down every second of it. Record it. That way I won't forget. But maybe I'm really just too scared to remember.
I had a dream the other night, a dream I didn't like. I was in my apartment, and there are these men that keep breaking in. After the first burly - no faced - man gets in, I manage to call the cops, and chase him out with a baseball bat. Of course the cops are waiting outside to catch him. Then as others make their way inside, I keep chasing htem out in increasingly violent ways - a broken bottle, a knife, and finnally a gun. But the last one just wouldn't be scared off. I had to shoot him several times, and drag his body out. Then the cops had to come in and gather the evidence. I had just shot and killed a man, in my own home.
I'm not sure what I did while they were gathering, you know how time can pass in an instant in a dream. Sometimes I wish life were like that. When I was allowed back in, there is blood all over my walls, and finger print dust on everything else. And I am very scared and shaken.
My mom and dad are there, and they are sitting on my bed. I run over to them and curl up between them. I tell them I'm scared, and that I don't want to stay in this apartment anymore. They turn to me and say 'where else would you go?' They tell me this is my home now, and there's nowhere else for me to be, and I should start picking up the pieces.
I woke up frantic and scared. Not scared that people were trying to hurt me, but that suddenly I had no where to run.
My dad keeps asking me how excited I am to be out on my own, and starting my own life. I think he's just sad he may be nearing the end of his. I'm sure all he remembers was how new and exciting everything is, but what he forgets is how completly terrifying it all is. Sometimes I wake up at night in a total panic, because I don't know where I am. And I miss my home. My parent's home. I miss my bedroom smelling of vanilla and scented candles, and the roof right outside my window. I used to climb out it at night, and look up at the moon, and wonder if it was possible I was the lonliest person on the Earth. I would cry, and sing to myself.
But that's not my room anymore, and it never will be again. And that's what scares me the most, if that is no longer home, and this doesn't feel like home - then where is it?
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