To the house,

To the house I never called a home—

It’s always weird coming back to visit you. Your shutters are tinted an eerie, unwelcoming white and your side gate is quite literally falling apart. The wood is rotting and whenever it rains, I know there’s something consuming it.

Your front lawn is dying and I know no one has the energy to revive the withering roses stretching to the ground. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why no one cared enough about you to clean you up a little. I always wanted to know why kids didn’t come over to play like at some other houses. I was sad when you didn’t have Christmas lights in the winking winter nor cozy parties inside throughout the year.

I spent most days looking from the inside out, trapped behind your grainy yellow walls. I know you spent most of your time looking from the outside in. You were cold—everything from your walls, the furniture and the people that called you a home. And even though I never liked you, I know every story behind your loveless facets. I know why there’s an angry hole in the closet door in the back room. I remember that night vividly. It was the first time I truly believed I could be free from you. But as the suitcase crashed onto the floor, I gave up and never tried again.

I am afraid of all the scratches in the dining table. They bring back flashback after flashback of meals gone awry. Meals that ended with me kneeling outside the house. Meals leading to angry punch lines in your tear-soaked wood. Accusatory meals and broken plates.

Sometimes, I ate alone. Sometimes it is silent and there is no screaming. There are no insults, no broken hearts or bones. I still didn’t like these nights, because my thoughts would devour me alive instead. I was isolated and unwanted. But also, I found just that little bit of peace. So even while being eaten alive, I felt a chilling calm in my core.

Even though you just stood by over the years, you have also seen more parts of me than I care to admit. I could never hide from you. You heard me ask what was wrong with me, why I couldn’t be more resilient, what was the point, why couldn’t I try harder, how come I wasn’t stronger, why I let everything get me down. You watched me challenge myself and push myself until I broke down. You stood in silence when they hurt me and threw their weight of words on me. You let them judge me and tear me open and cut me to tiny pieces. You never cared.

Dumbass. Stupid. Worthless. Piece of shit. Hopeless. A waste. Whore. I think we’ve lost count how many times we heard those words. They are ruthless people. I am scared of the love they say they gave me. And because of them, I never felt safe within the walls that should’ve wrapped me in warmth every night.

You never caught me when I fell into a drowning spiral. You just listened to me cry.

When I finally left you, I was beyond relieved. I thought I could run away from you and all the trauma you brought upon me. I tricked myself into believing that a clean slate meant I would become a clean, new person. That wasn’t quite the case. I’m a little more mature and worn around the edges now, but I am exactly and always will be the same girl that cowered in fear in the face of their sticks and stones.

When I have some time to gather myself and think alone, I realize that I miss you. Now that I am seeking help to rationalize the jumbled past, I want you to know that it isn’t your fault.

This isn’t to say that I want to come back to you. I will never call you my home and there is a part of me that will always hate you. But you watched me rise against hatred and even though I hit rock bottom a good amount of the time, you gave me space to grow and learn.

I know there are times I am governed by irrationality and now is one of them. I will never be able to forgive you even though you never actively participated in the abuse. But I thank you for keeping me grounded. Thank you for watching and for understanding and listening. At the very least, I know I can be me around you.

Maybe I’ll take some time to water your roses next time I’m back. Or I’ll finally replace that ugly, rotting gate. I think it’s time you felt a little bit of love too.