Home Sweet Home
There's a fine line between a lonely home and hell. A lonely home can tear one apart if said person isn't careful. When nobody is around to conversate with there is nothing to do besides reflect on oneself. My apartment was the loneliest place of all time. I once spent two months alone there unemployed and afoot. Although limited, secluded, and meager my time spent alone there led me to self-actualization in numerous aspects of my life.
The single-bedroom apartment was at times claustrophobic, yet sometimes I feel as if I was the only person left on the face of the planet. Seclusion has a way of tricking one's mind into believing that they are truly the last person that doesn't have a partner by their side to motivate them and …show more content…
A television that was used solely for background noise to drown my thoughts sat in the living room, along with a couch that was rarely used. To the right one could find my elaborate kitchenette with its stunning cherry-wood cabinets and immaculate tile backsplash. The kitchen usually withheld empty pizza boxes, half-consumed water bottles, and three-day-old leftovers from whatever meal I had gathered enough energy to cook up earlier that week. My save haven, or perhaps my prison, was located straight through the vacant room where I did none of my living. Step into my bedroom and one would surely locate me. Maybe I would be laying in the middle of my Queen-sized luxury mattress I spent am arm-and-a-leg for to mark my supposed transition to adulthood. If not in my exquisite bed, perhaps I was in my vast walk-in closet to the right sitting at my vanity. More than likely staring deeply into the mirror, make-up brush intact, forcing myself to do the one task I felt any sort of happiness towards. However, if I happened to not be in my bed or trapped in my mirror, I may have been found in the pitiful excuse of a bathroom just past the closet. The lighting was brilliant, but there was no space for more than one person at a time and it reeked of mildew from the black mold presumably growing under the bathroom sink. I often enjoyed lounging in the bathtub until my skin was …show more content…
Anywhere but home. That was before I witnessed a terrible car accident and experienced intense, mind-baffling symptoms of PTSD. Long before I ultimately gave up on happiness and turned to the life of a hermit. From there I threw my positivity and responsibility out the window, quit my job, spent many long days and nights forcing myself to stay awake to avoid horrid nightmares, spent less time with my daughter and friends, and spent more time than I'd like to admit sobbing in
There's a fine line between a lonely home and hell. A lonely home can tear one apart if said person isn't careful. When nobody is around to conversate with there is nothing to do besides reflect on oneself. My apartment was the loneliest place of all time. I once spent two months alone there unemployed and afoot. Although limited, secluded, and meager my time spent alone there led me to self-actualization in numerous aspects of my life.
The single-bedroom apartment was at times claustrophobic, yet sometimes I feel as if I was the only person left on the face of the planet. Seclusion has a way of tricking one's mind into believing that they are truly the last person that doesn't have a partner by their side to motivate them and …show more content…
A television that was used solely for background noise to drown my thoughts sat in the living room, along with a couch that was rarely used. To the right one could find my elaborate kitchenette with its stunning cherry-wood cabinets and immaculate tile backsplash. The kitchen usually withheld empty pizza boxes, half-consumed water bottles, and three-day-old leftovers from whatever meal I had gathered enough energy to cook up earlier that week. My save haven, or perhaps my prison, was located straight through the vacant room where I did none of my living. Step into my bedroom and one would surely locate me. Maybe I would be laying in the middle of my Queen-sized luxury mattress I spent am arm-and-a-leg for to mark my supposed transition to adulthood. If not in my exquisite bed, perhaps I was in my vast walk-in closet to the right sitting at my vanity. More than likely staring deeply into the mirror, make-up brush intact, forcing myself to do the one task I felt any sort of happiness towards. However, if I happened to not be in my bed or trapped in my mirror, I may have been found in the pitiful excuse of a bathroom just past the closet. The lighting was brilliant, but there was no space for more than one person at a time and it reeked of mildew from the black mold presumably growing under the bathroom sink. I often enjoyed lounging in the bathtub until my skin was …show more content…
Anywhere but home. That was before I witnessed a terrible car accident and experienced intense, mind-baffling symptoms of PTSD. Long before I ultimately gave up on happiness and turned to the life of a hermit. From there I threw my positivity and responsibility out the window, quit my job, spent many long days and nights forcing myself to stay awake to avoid horrid nightmares, spent less time with my daughter and friends, and spent more time than I'd like to admit sobbing in