Personal Essay - My Heart is Where Home Is

 

My Heart Is Where Home Is

The older I get the more often I realize how nothing can prepare you for the difficulties of growing up. Don’t get me wrong, life can be fantastic at times. It can also be a horrific self induced nightmare that leaves you laying in bed, cradling yourself and crying out your mother. Thinking about college as a wide-eyed junior in high school had me excited for the future. I thought, “Finally, I’ll be alone. I’ll have life-long friends and consistent hot and heavy one night stands. Life is gonna be great!” Well to all the wide eyed high school girls who've possibly thought this, please understand that’s far from the case. Sitting in my pea sized dorm on this Friday night, I felt the urge to describe how my life’s gotten so complicated since I slowly became the baggy under-eyed woman who really isn’t happy with her life.

I know I’m not the only person in the world that has really really bad days. There are people out there struggling, fighting and suffering much more than I am. I acknowledge that and sympathize with them. Although that doesn’t mean that you can’t take a moment to cry over a terrible interaction with the deli guy who messed up your order. I mean come on, I really, really hate cheese I don’t want it NEAR my bacon, egg and hot sauce no matter how strange that sounds. But seriously, why do the horrible moments in one’s life always seem to be the most impactful? From the deli guy messing up my order, to finding out my dad has a terminal disease. Why must these moments keep me laying awake at night? Why can’t we remember the peaceful moments?  Like the days I find heads up pennies, or hold the door open for a stranger and they genuinely smile back and say, “thanks darling.” Simple moments where my brain stops rattling and I’m not suffering from terrible headaches, or as I like to call them: brain bombs.

Being away from home in a completely new environment seems to have be the cause of my consistent brain bombs. My life at home is simpler, I have friends that I trust, family that reassures me and a boyfriend I love and miss like crazy. People like to say “Home is where the heart is,” but I think a better way to phrase that is: your heart is where home is. Living away in a new city has made my body feel hollow. My heart isn’t with me anymore. My heart is home, two hours away sleeping with my boyfriend like I should be doing. God my heart is such a slut..I’ve been thinking about in high school I hated the people. I never had any real friends who cared about me. Sure I had friends there who would care if I never texted back or stood them up for lunch, but they never cared about me. Nothing was keeping me home, so leaving for college two hours away felt like the right thing to do.

My boyfriend, Hero (yes his name is fitting), is the only person that’s ever made me feel like something other than a bore. I met him a week after I committed to a college two hours away from home, where he would be finishing his last year of high school. Hero actually cares about me. He kisses me, and asks me how my days been. I can tell by the way he looks at me when he talks to me that my response is important. When we facetime he always calls me “mad cute” and sometimes I make it seem like I don’t agree, but somehow he’s genuinely convinced me that’s he’s right. I am mad cute!

Ever since I left to go to school, I dream everyday of coming back. I can’t live in this hollow shell of a woman anymore. I need my heart back in my chest. What people don’t tell you about college is that it’s super lonely. I don’t have friends or family here. Which means that once again I’m back to the way I felt before I met Hero. At school I don't have someone that comforts me, and helps me feel a little bit better on days where my brain bombs are worse than usual. College feels like home did...So why does home feel like college was supposed to feel? It’s because my heart is where home is, and my belongs to Hero. The feeling of true love is hard to describe. Don’t believe what Nicholas Sparks or Nora Ephron, it’s really hard to explain unless you’ve felt it. If I had to try, it’s merely the feeling of calmness. The termination of brain bombs, that relaxing moment right after you’ve thrown up, or the way ur face feels after you’ve stopped crying.

I could care less about my house when I visit. My room is simply where I sleep. The only time my room actually has meaning, is the moment Hero steps inside of it and we attempt to share my lumpy twin sized bed. Some people may just read this and call me “a silly girl in love.” To that I’d reply: yes, I am a silly girl in love. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I can’t wait to go home.