Am I trying to figure out who I am? Looking for some higher power to whisper the truth into my ear?

My father wasn’t always the villain in my story. He used to be my hero, someone I looked up to. I remember the milkshake runs, the songs of his I memorized, the way I couldn’t wait to tell him about my day.

But over time, the bad memories started to outnumber the good. My perspective of him flipped.

Yes, I still remember the good moments. That’s what makes it harder. But one day, he flipped a switch, locking away the dad I once knew. What was left felt like an imposter. Who took my dad from me?

I stood at the top of the stairs, hearing the front door open. My chest tightened, not from excitement, but dread. I was only eleven, praying my friends wouldn’t hear the yelling. Wishing the bullets flying from his mouth wouldn’t hit me, ducking as they bounced off the walls.

My anger turned into silence.

I vividly recall how he’d open my bedroom door during his fights with my mom, deliberately waking me up. It was as if he wanted me to witness the chaos.

And yet, he was still my father. I was still a kid, holding onto hope that the dad I knew might return.

When we moved, I thought it might be a fresh start. The change I’d been praying for. I learned quickly peace didn’t exist in his world.

No, he never hit me. But the weight of his words? It felt like he had. They sliced like a knife.

The rage I felt was something I’d never known before.

How dare he.

My lip wouldn’t stop twitching, and I’d never felt more joy than I did in that moment. It felt almost surreal, how could something so small make me smile so hard? My cheeks were aching, but I didn’t care. I kept smiling, giggling, laughing freely. The source of my aching cheeks and twitching lips? Puddles.

This house holds my past, present, and future. The walls peel, spilling memories onto the torn carpet. I feel like a stranger in my own home. A ghost of my past falls into my hands as I hold old dolls and faded paintings. Dust drifts through the rooms like snow. The doors whine and the floors creak with age, welcoming me back home.

She is the light, and I am the moth. I’d follow her to the edge of the world. She is my sun, my moon, And in the darkest room, I’d find her For she is the light.

I welcomed loneliness with a warm embrace— but it seems it overstayed.

It had embedded itself in my soul, becoming a part of me.

I wish it farewell, every day.

Hope. I chase hope like a madman—screaming and wailing for it. One day, when I wake up, the loneliness will no longer be there.

I hope for the pain that doesn’t exist to finally go away.

Need. The need for something greater than me fills my body day and night.

My insides tear. My soul weeps.

I am in need. I feel it in my chest and my mind. It hurts.

I want to move. Travel. Live. See. Hear. Laugh.

I need it all.

Fearful. Fear has weaved itself into my bones, leaving me frozen in time.

While the world spins, I am stuck. Unmoving.

My mind screams for me to do something— but my body acts like it’s not even mine. I'm suspended between two worlds.

Light and Dark.

When my brain says get up, my body hides like a coward.

Fear is my demon.