Coming back home

Here I lay, in my childhood bed. Throughout the whole semester all I wanted was to come home to my parents, the comfort of their lap.

Now I’ve been here for a week and I feel disappointed. I want us not to argue, to always have our meals together, to spend time together. I want to see this household working like it once did, it seems like everyone has slacked their roles in the family. My little sister won’t get off her iPad or lift her butt off the couch to do anything. My parents are working, spending the whole day away from home. And no one cares about dinner anymore. Now I realize how much I loved dinner. No one even cares to wake me up like before and when I do, the house is silent and half-empty. All of this makes me so worried, making my anxiety go up, making me a little sick to my stomach as I write this.

I don’t want to be here anymore. Maybe home isn’t home anymore. Maybe home is being alone at my apartment where at least all I worry about is myself.

Maybe it’s all in my head since everyone seems so fine.

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