It is strange… I should feel something. Yet I do not. This house is nice; full of promise, but not quite home to me.
It’s almost like a hotel. You move your things in and organize them, knowing that you will have to cram it all back into your meager suitcase and head home in a few days. But I will not leave to return home. This is my new home. Or at least one of them.
Huh. Two homes. I’m uncertain of the subject. On one hand, I will have unlimited space and an escape if one side gets too heavy. On the other, I will have to readjust. Split my belongings and time, spend time buying new things, and remember what I have and don’t have. I dread the thought of having to say, “I left it at my other house.”
Scared. That’s what I am. I’m scared for what the future brings. I’m scared for what my parents will have to deal with. For my younger sister, growing up having to be toted from house to house. Scared for my inability to feel my emotions. Scared for telling my friends. Scared for my reaction to their faces. Scared for the inevitable emotional breakdown soon to come.
I have reacted greatly every time my parents have fought. Only to have spilled tears and heartache for nothing. Now when something is actually occurring from these arguments, I am emotionless. I haven’t cried, I haven’t laughed. I walk around in a daze, numb to the world.
This has happened before. None for very long. But afterwards, I would crumble. I would succumb to my overwhelming emotions that have lingered and festered for however long I sat and observed the world with a cold indifference.
First would come the anger; the fire. I would snap at the slightest annoyance, however unreasonable. Then the water. I would sit by myself and just cry. Cry for fear, anxiety, relief, or just overall sadness. I would then retreat into my cave of earth. I would brood and drive myself insane thinking of things that I needed to do, unnecessary details, and think myself to death. Finally, wind would take over. I would either write it down or find someone to talk to. I would blab and blab about God knows what until I was satisfied and had gotten every detail out. Afterwards, it would seem stupid and ignorant to be worried about such things. But I could not let them sit in my mind. They had to be freed.
Now I sit and stare out my window. It’s a good view. Much better than the one at my old two story house. There is more life to see. It is still raining. A good sign for practice, since I can barely function as it is. Even at 11:00 P.M. on a Sunday, there are still lights on in the neighboring houses. Why are they still up? Why am I still up?
I cannot fathom how I will get through school tomorrow. I could go through it robotically, go through the motions without really being there. This will raise some questions. Questions that I cannot answer while in this state of being.
I could begin my cooperation mechanism. Snap at loyal friends, cry uncontrollably at the most random times (like the middle of PE where I practically only hang around guys), freak out (probably during English), and then either rush home to write (promising that I would write every day and then failing as soon as I became busy) or find a friend and talk their ear off with my troubles.

Or I could be completely fine. School could push the memories back and I could explain the situation very calmly and happily. This would be the least likely.

You see, I broke the news to four of my friends. Strangely, all of them took it worse than I did. They were aghast: Mouths dropped open, shooting questions of why and how, and they were the ones who needed hugs. Me, I just sat there with an unreadable expression on my face as I tried to ease them.

I don’t know if I can handle it if the others will react the same. It might break me. And if I do break, I want it to be somewhere I consider safe. This does not include school or the softball fields.

I need to sleep now. Don’t know if I can. But I will try. I’m becoming sick from standing in the rain.