I want to go home.

Posted: February 18, 2014 in Self-Deprecation

This is not a work of biting sarcasm, and will be bereft of my usually delightful penchant for the obnoxious and outlandish.  If you were expecting something uplifting like that, I don’t blame you– however I will apologize in advance.  My sense of humor has increasingly failed me lately, and has been replaced by a simple phrase, “I want to go home.”

This basic desire, in its purest form, is voiced by a child once they’ve grown tired of where they are.  It is quite simple, really, and everyone has vocalized this sentiment at one juncture or another.  I want to go home.  It makes perfect sense when you’re somewhere you no longer wish to be, regardless of why.  Sometimes situations do not allow us to bring this desire to light, but it doesn’t stop us from thinking it.  Rationale aside, it is an easily understood concept and desire no matter how old you are.

Imagine how mystified I was when I first caught myself uttering this perfectly understandable phrase while standing in my Elysium, my kitchen.  Not only am I home, I’m in the place where I am most at ease.  The understandable had instantaneously become so preposterous, I grabbed a drink and silenced it.  Randomly incongruous thoughts are no stranger to me, and I thought this occasion was no different.  The problem is, that errant thought made itself known months ago– it has grown to be an unrelenting compulsion.  I want to go home, even when I’m home, no matter what I’m doing, or my mood.  Considering my unerring love for adventure, shenanigans, and randomness– this repetitive compulsion has perplexed me to the point of considering that I may, in fact, have begun to lose my already arthritic grip on reality at long last.

However, I realized that in my case “home” is less a location as it is a state.  In direct spite of my affinity for chaos, I have always had a sense of equilibrium.  At the surface I change readily and quickly because at the core, I am as unwaveringly constant as a geological epoch.  Rather, it is not me but my circumstancesUniformitarianism may be a term unique to geology, but I find it aptly applicable here.  I have wanted to go home since the day I lost my gramma, and unlike losses I have experienced in the past– I have not been able to internally resolve this one and go on.  Every part of our relationship defined that unwavering feeling of “home.”  No matter where my residence was, no matter how crappy life had become, I could always “go home.”  For over thirty years, I was spoiled with that ability.  I was so spoiled, in retrospect, you could almost say I took it for granted.

Now, that I am truly starting to experience the best that my life has yet to offer– a happy marriage, solid employ, good friends, progress towards goals– I have this unending chant within my head.  I want to go home, and suddenly I realize that I never will again.

Are my coping skills ill suited to grieving?  Certainly.  However, I think my problem is even bigger than that–
— I don’t know how to silence nor comfort that inner child that has lost his home.



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