Home for the Weekend

I'm really excited to be home for the weekend. I get to "recharge" and work on how I'm going to tackle the rest of the semester. I like coming home. It means hot water and water pressure, free laundry, food, and love.

It feels safe when I'm home.

I don't have to pretend that I'm doing great or have to act like nothing happened. I'm allowed to put my defenses down and breathe.

I can some what do this at school, but it's not the same. I have people there that understand and know what happened, but it feels forced to be okay. (on my part)

It just feels like a big weight has been taken off my shoulders when I come home. It feels peaceful and relaxing to finally be able to breathe.

I have some professors walking on egg shells around me and don't know how to talk to me now because of what had happened.

Don't worry folks, I'm not a ticking time bomb any more. I've got my shit together. Granted I should have seen this coming, the professors I'm talking about don't know how to talk to me in the first place. They kind of suck.

I also feel guilty that I haven't asked for help yet. People have been giving me help and reminders that they're there for me. I appreciate all that they've offered and I know they care, I just don't want to feel like charity. I've always been too stubborn for my own good, but still.

I just need to suck it up or something. I don't know.