Going Home Again.

I hate this feeling; the one I get when I realize how hard it is to be back home, and how far removed I feel from my "life" down here. It's ridiculous, really; I've been wanting to go home for a while. I've wanted to hang out with my family more, see old friends, go to my parents' church, save some money.

But nothing in life is easy. Nothing. I have demons to face, and I have to face them as an adult. It's going to be hard not to slip back into the person I was before I moved out. In fact, I did it last night, when I should've bucked up and taken a certain comment like a stronger person than I acted. And all the compassion that I'm so high and mighty about having went out the window, which means I'd slipped back into the selfish person I was as well. 

I ceased to be the "bigger person", the one my mom taught me to be. I pointed fingers and tried to get pity and validation for myself, when the only person I really need those from is myself. I'd forgotten that I don't have to answer to anyone, and that I'd grabbed my freedom that way. Being my own person has freed me up to show love and support to others who need it, but when I'm trying to get all the whatever-it-is-I-want I can from others, I cease to be able to give it to others.