What it Means to be Home

I’ve been back home for two days now, and I forgot how much stress it causes. Being home throws me out of my routine; wake up, work out, eat the breakfast I want to eat and nothing more, shower, and finish out my day with errands, cleaning, or something similar.

Home has no consistency. I’m now sharing a house with four other people because of visiting family. The bathroom is shared, everything is cluttered, food is everywhere…people are everywhere. I love my family, but it’s harder. It’s harder because it’s different, I guess.

I also constantly have a headache. This is due to a mixture of over-eating sugary foods, not sleeping well, and everything being so terribly loud. The TV is always on and yelling, we’re blasting music all over the house, and everyone scream-talks over each other, especially on the phone. I didn’t realize how used to silence I’ve become from living on my own. Everyones suddenly becomes on-edge and gets more frustrated with each other, screaming and being passive aggressive. There’s nowhere I can hide, either. Everyone is in each other’s business…always. What are you doing? Where did you go? What are you doing now? Who are you talking to? What’s that? I always question how I managed to do this for 18 consecutive years.

I can’t say I hate being home, but it’s something I’m not good at being able to handle.

Granted, I’ve had some great moments at home, of course. Seeing family members I forget to call, eating free food, and seeing friends. We take the time to catch up, and I’m lucky that I can, because, of course, there’s so many people out there would would trade anything for a loud, nosy family.