Last year, all I wanted to do was get out of my home town. I was feeling stifled and stuck and needed a change. I decided to move to the city, thinking it was going to make things better. I was wrong. It has been probably the worst eight months of my life, and I could sit here for hours and tell you why, but who wants to read that?
I miss home. I miss it so much that I drive back at every opportunity, usually just for the day. I will happily get in my car and drive for two hours, just to spend some time away from the city that has turned me into a tense little ball of constant rage and discontent. The anger in me has begun to scare me. It is endless, and getting worse. Everything makes me angry, from the big things to the trivial. And I can’t stand being this way. To be honest, I don’t think anyone can.
I miss the comfort of my dad’s cooking, and my favourite spot on the floor in front of his heater. I miss not having to drive for 45 minutes just to get somewhere. I miss being comfortable and familiar enough with a place to get out and go for a walk. I miss being close to my friends and family. All of the things that I couldn’t wait to get away from last year are now all the things that I long for. I guess home will always be home, no matter how much you may want to run away from it sometimes.
Living in the city hasn’t really worked out so well for me. So I have decided, that for my health (mental and physical), and for my sanity, I am going to move back home. For the last couple of weeks I have been looking for work – no luck yet, but keep your fingers crossed – and once I find a job, I will make my happy (if not triumphant) return. The lease on this place is up in August, so if I have no luck between now and then, it’s doesn’t matter so much anyway. Moving back home is inevitable at this point.