Returning Home

Driving down these old re-paved roads, tapered with potholes and scrapes from re-paving, along with the abundant burn out marks, I can’t help but remember how much I hate this town; these road aren’t the same as I remember, but they are the same in my mind. Dirty, filthy roads. rampant with my own personal shame and the unrealized shame of those that never left this town.

I’m visiting my family for the weekend, its Fathers Day after all, and my father deserves all of my respect. He is the one person I strive to emulate in my every day life.

But something about these roads brings about a part of my subconscious that I’ve buried so deep; I hate this place. Not my home, I love my home; it’s my only center of refuge amongst this dirty walk of shame.

The world around me swirls as i drive these street’s, my mind filled with a lust for chemicals that I no longer wish to desire; a scream felt so deep within that I can only choke not to scream aloud.

I can’t explain it, and it’s likely why I’ve attempted to stay away from this place for so long. I’m sorry Mom, I know you’ll read this soon enough; but we had this talk tonight. And I feel my writing can bring more clarity than my spoken words ever will.

I’ve stayed away for so long because of my shame and because I know what this town does to me. It brings out the worst. Which is why I’m sitting here from my parents house blogging from my phones “hotspot” drinking whiskey on the rocks. Trust me, this is far better than what I could pursue in this town if I desired.

My path began long ago, along these narrow and twisted roads. I wasn’t an addict then, but it was the makings of what I would soon become. At the time I loved this place; it was my home and I’d willingly fight for its homage. Now, ’round about 16 years later, it’s became a place I loathe. It was the beginning of my high, and the start of my demise.

I sit here in my parent’s living room with my dog passed out on the couch across from me, and both parent’s asleep; aching in my bones. This town didn’t do me dirty, it was just a breeding ground for me to roll in the dirt.

I’m sorry for all these years that I stayed away. It wasn’t necessarily because of the town; Up until recently I wasn’t opposed to all nighters and riding home encased with disgust. But now it just brings out a since of hatred in me, and a sense of empathy for those that still think this fish bowl is the entire world.

I suppose we can’t run from where we are from and the world that we grew up in. I still struggle with this greatly, as described above; but we are the product of our environment. Our only saving grace is the desire to become more than what we previously were before.

This life, in my opinion is the only one we are blessed with, is not to be taken granted for. You hold the reign’s on this wild ride. Whether you hate where you are now, or despise the place that you came from; neither should hinder you from achieving what you desire in this world.

I hate this town; But what I hate more is failure and not living up to my own expectations.

My love and best wishes to you always!

  • A Half Broken Mind
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2 thoughts on “Returning Home

  1. Wow did i first think i was reading my own words. I to hate going to my home place for lots of reasons. The pain of childhood memories were more than i could bare when I was in my late teens and in my 20’s. Then latwr after my parents died it became even harder. Now i totally avoud the town i was born in when i go home to my kuds. Thank god they live outside of the home place i grewcup in. I wonder sometimes if I’ll ever be able to visit there without painful memories. I hope you have acgood weekend with your family. I wish my dad was still alive it would be worth every ounce of pain id endure while being in my hometown.

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