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Running back to myself

Two years ago I came back home, after seven years living in another town. After almost all my ships sank, somehow I floated to my parents shore. I didn’t want that. Nobody wants that. But still, there I was – in the little town I hated, on the doorstep of my teenage room, staring at the thousands of boxes filled with my yesterday life. Baby bird returned to the nest – huge, hungry and confused. Abandoned nest syndrome, from which my parents suffered after I left home, was gone and cured, but soon after my arrival replaced with the crowded nest syndrome. They were older and more tired of lifelong struggles and the last thing they needed was my life-quake. They did their best to help me, but things were not the same; I felt that my home overcame the habit of having me in its womb. Me, who doesn’t belong anywhere anymore. Me with a broken heart and strong love disappointment, without a job or an idea of what to do next in my life.

In that time I cried a lot, usually hiding that from everybody except for one time when I was coming home from a night club, drunk, crying as loud as I could on the street and not giving a fuck about those who could hear me. Well, that was a bit of a release, but still, it didn’t help me to stop thinking about how fucked up my life is and it didn’t help me to stop seeing the pity I hated in the eyes of others. The only thing I couldn’t see was some sign of salvation on the horizon. I desperately needed something or someone to save me.
To. Save. Me.

One night I had the strangest dream of all. It was summertime in my old backyard; angry voices were coming from the inside of my house, disturbing my ears, but something else caught the attention of my eyes. A girl, in the distance. It looked like she was hiding in my old safe place – behind the giant plants that my grandma used to cultivate. I took her onto my knee, started to hug and kiss that little little sad girl that I left behind a long time ago. I loved her so much. I missed her so much. What I felt in that moment was so cosmic big and beautiful, beyond everything I ever felt before – it was life changing. I missed her so much. I missed me.

I know that this may sound like a scene from some low budget movie, but for me nothing was the same after that dream.

Next morning the sun started to stab my eyelids provocatively; it was trying to challenge me to a life. While I was unwrapping myself from that ball of dreams and releasing warm feelings from another dimension in the silent emptiness of my room, I realised one very important thing; before choosing anything I had to choose me. Before I start running to some new goal, I have to run back to myself first; hug myself, ask for forgiveness and never let me go again. During all these years, I gave up on myself in almost everything I did; I didn’t take myself seriously and I didn’t care about hearing my inner voices, so everything became very complicated, knotty and then it stuck. So, something had to break to stay alive, to give the light a chance to get in.

Also, soon I realised that this “coming back home” situation was exactly what I needed. My home was still home; beautiful and complicated at the same time. And mine. I allowed myself to stop. To breath in, breath out, to think, read, spend some time with my dogs, walk, watch the sunset, to understand why I hide myself from life for so long and to cure it. I learned that I can’t change others, only my relationship with them. I realised how happy I am to have a family, no matter how hard is to hang around with them sometimes. I realised how blessed I am with many kinds of love and fortune. I realised how strong I can be and how many things I can do when I have trust in myself. I pushed my limits and I’m still pushing, creating life in my own way. I learned the importance of small steps. I learned the importance of accepting and loving myself.

I learned how to walk with myself always by my side.

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