its worth it. i wont tell you its not worth it, i couldnt. but leaving your family is awful. suddenly, explaining your past to anyone the whole of it is smeared with this baseline unreality. i’ll tell them how it was bad and i wont believe myself without someone to argue that it wasnt. i’ll not tell them the bits that were okay, nice even, the good days. save myself the trouble of inviting misunderstanding like that, let every good memory live only in me. let it rot there. i hate myself, still, for “misrepresenting” what would have killed me if i let it. i keep this tension constantly of knowing i havent got a back up others have, nowhere to go, no last port of call. it exhausts me, weakens me, feel myself start to circle the drain, any day now….
mostly i just feel guilty. i feel guilty every day but really i dont know the guilt from the apprehension, the idea i might have to see them again, might have to account for myself. might have to be told that i am so wrong, so entitled, so cruel, even one more time.
sure, sure. the family must be destroyed. i have a headache.