Tag Archives: moving


You know what absolutely sucks? Leaving bad things behind.

It’s not that part that sucks, really. It’s the fact that when you leave bad things behind, you inevitably leave good things behind too. And the good things.. let’s be honest- not things, people. When you leave the good people behind, they don’t really know why you left. They don’t know how much the bad things hurt you or how much it hurts to leave the good people. They don’t understand the pain that fills you when you think about going back. They don’t know you can’t let yourself think about them because it hurts much too much to do so. They don’t know how much you had to fake it or the kind of front you put up just so you’d survive.

And then you feel bad because you left them behind. And you know, you know, you know, you know, that you can’t go back. And you can’t do that again. And it’s the reason part of you is dead. It’s a piece of you that your body literally would do better without because it’s trying to infect the parts of you that are still alive. But still. You feel bad. Because you were good. You just had to be so freaking good to some people that now that you’re gone, they miss you. And leaving people like that really isn’t in your job description because you know what it’s like. And you want to be there for everyone if only they weren’t there. You know, that place you can’t go because… well you don’t know why.

But you know that you have to go back soon and the thought strikes you with fear and makes you crazy. Because why would you want to return to a place that saw so much of your pain? Why would you want to return to a place that stole hours and hours and hours from you that you’ll never get back? A place filled with emotion and pain and hurt but also with comfort because, hell! it’s all you knew for four years of your life. But at some point, a home turned into a prison and, for crying out loud, you still can’t figure out which one is it.

You just feel bad because you left all the good things along with all of the bad things. And you just wonder how long they’re going to keep hurting you.




As quietly as I could, I made my way downstairs. My bare feet whispered on the wood floor. I would have preferred carpet just because it allowed me to be all together silent. There was a group of girls I didn’t know in my living being entertained by my roommates. I didn’t mind them being there but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.
I heard a rhythmic sound coming from the kitchen and wondered if one of the girls had wondered off by herself. Instead, I found him cleaning the top of my refrigerator.
He hoped I didn’t mind what he was doing and I shook my head. I’d been meaning to get to it but, after all the work it had taken to clean the tops of the cabinets, I really didn’t want to tackle the fridge for a while. Plus, he probably thought it was more of a necessity than I did because he could actually see the top of it. When I went down after he left, I realized he had cleaned the entire room.
Later, I sat in the kitchen, alternating between reading and putting a batch of cookies in the oven when he came back. He asked me questions and told me about himself. He talked about bringing a rug for the living room and maybe some artwork for the walls. And they were going to walmart- did I need anything from the store? I didn’t. If I did, I couldn’t think if anything.
When he left the room, and when I had left him cleaning before, a sadness swept over me. I stared into nothing, not being able to concentrate on my book any longer. I tried to give myself a moment to recover and blinked away the tears that had come to my eyes.
I get so overwhelmed when people are nice to me. How ridiculous is that? But he cleaned the top of my refrigerator. Who does that? I went to put away my dishes and he had already done it. He had put my roommates fruit in the fridge and straighten up the counter. He somehow cleaned the brush I thought I had destroyed scrubbing the tops of the cabinets.
I live in a world where I do everything myself. I hammered in some loose nails and fixed a few loose screws in the house I’m now living in. I got on a chair in my roommates room before she got here and replaced her lightbulbs that had burnt out. I moved all of my stuff into the house by myself even after people offered to help. When something needs done, I just do it. And if I can’t do it by myself, I put it off until I can’t any longer.
I don’t know how to handle it when people do things for me. I know he was really doing these things for his daughter, my roommate. I know that. But he was so nice to me. I just really, truly appreciate it when people are nice to me.
But sometimes… It just makes me so sad.