Returning to my Hometown

It amazing how things can be so crazy even when you don’t go outside of your brother’s house or neighborhood for days and days at a time. Rose and I are not going to live together. Things just got too fucky. Had I already had housing back in my city, maybe it could have worked out. So she will stay in my hometown. She has a lovely new beau to keep her company though. After rolling around staying at my brother’s and getting a job out west or going back to my city, I decided, at the moment, both are not an option.

I have friends that want to room together, but we haven’t nailed down when everyone wants to look for a place. Some in the group don’t have quite enough money yet. I have decided to return to my crappy little town. I am not excited about this at all. In fact, I dread it kind of. At least Rose will be there. If she wasn’t, I don’t think I could stand coming back home. I will find some work that doesn’t deal with people too much and save up some money. It isn’t somewhere I can be long term without making my condition worse. I suppose I can mark ‘move back in with mom’ off my bucket list.

The hardest part is probably going to be my dad. I am not going to tell him I am coming home. For all he will know, I’m downstate or still out west. I know my dad would just make me feel worse than I already do even though he wouldn’t intend it. He’d probably want me to come over and mow my grandma’s lawn like I wasn’t in a mental hospital in January, broke up with my boyfriend, couch surfed, fucked off to the west, and then came back home because my life is a mess. I can imagine the possible conversation. This is not some grand vacation. I’m a little rat drowning in the sewers trying to hang onto anything I can.

At the same time, I feel super guilty. I feel like I should be talking with my dad, but the idea literally makes me feel ill. I don’t want to listen to him try to give me advice,  talk about my condition like I’m a car, or have to deal with the scared look of pity he gave me last year. I don’t want to deal with my grandmother either. She knew nothing about this stuff. She knew I was struggling a bit with something like depression, but now the whole family knows. I told my dad to tell everyone because it would have just gotten around somehow anyways.  Grams would probably give me hell for not communicating with her and Dad, and that’s what I don’t need right now.

I’m waiting for the start of May to go back though. The Midwest is getting a barrage of spring snow storms. Returning to crap weather would make me feel worse. I at least want the weather to be halfway decent. I have this bleak feeling about going back. I’ll get some low-key job like being a housekeeper at one of the hotels. I don’t want to deal with the public anymore. It’s going to suck, but Mom, of course, isn’t going to make me pay rent. I can save up money to move back downstate and maybe for some other things I need.

Rose will help me socialize again. I haven’t hung out with people or spent time with people that weren’t kids and my family for months. I feel like my social abilities have probably gotten slightly worse. Maybe we’ll go on some fun adventures. Or perhaps we’ll go nowhere, overeat, and watch stupid movies like we did in our teens. 

I guess I don’t really know what I want out of my life right now. I’ve always had the plan of being a photographer. Then I suddenly felt like I needed to make a lot of money with it, so I tried to force myself into being a portrait photographer. I never wanted to take pictures of bitchy brides or deal with senior photos. My anxiety issues and avoidant PD eventually made me realize that I couldn’t deal with people in that capacity. 

When I was younger, I wanted to be a writer. I wrote a lot of stories. I think I am going to try to get back into that. Once I picked up the camera, I gave up the pen. Even in my early teen years, I felt the pressure to pick something that would make me “successful,” not happy. I love photography, I really do. But I love it as an art, not as a paycheck. I guess I might consider my return at home as a time for reflection. 

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