Updated: Dec 31
I remember feeling utterly trapped. Nights were awful. I considered a night good when I was able to sleep through the night without being woken up by the startling noises, clumsy banging, or inconsiderate lights, that were the result of drunkenness. Or worse, startled awake by name calling and cruel words.
Life at home had become unpredictable. I walked on eggshells, always trying to anticipate the next mood shift. I couldn’t wait to leave in the morning, for the peace of the gym. I felt like I had a house, but not a home - certainly not the sanctuary it was in past memories.
So why didn’t I get the hell out?