Home.

I thought home was where one was supposed to be one could be oneself without scorn, where warmth was evident and support was found?

Four out of four weekends i’ve been dissed and blamed for events the minute i step through the door. I receive no support what i aspire to do, to be, and i’m forced to conform to what other people want me to be.  Now i can’t even buy myself a belated birthday gift with my own money without being put on a guilt trip.

I’m bloody running on empty.

I hate it.

And that is why i really don’t feel like coming home these days.




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