It's going to become very clear, very quickly, that I don't like my family. So brace for that, but I'm not a hate monger. I don't hate them, I just have reason to dislike them. I understand that they are my family and they've formed me into the person I am, but that's always true for everyone ever. Everyone's lives affect each other. If I were to make my family special for that reason, then everyone I've ever met is special. Which they aren't. Some people just suck.
Growing up with my family was hard. I was the outsider. I can only think it's because I was smart, but I'm pretty sure that I was also just an annoying asshole. I really was. Up until a few years ago, I was (and I'll argue that I sort of still am) a quick judging hate monger. I wasn't a bigot, I've always been far from it, but I was just angry all the time, at everything and everyone. I don't know why because I'm also a very affectionate person and I love physical and emotional intimacy.
Since probably 8th grade, I've been depressed. Very depressed. There's a lot I could get into, but I'll just say that I felt oppressed and rejected by my family, and by most people in general. I don't know when I started to feel that way, but I have a good reason why. I won't get into it, but it's a pretty depressing story that's deeply personal.
I'll say this: I never felt like I could ever be myself at home; I never felt like I could express myself genuinely while around my family.
Since moving out, I've gotten used to being myself and expressing myself successfully. Getting away from home was a very good thing to do. I've learned a lot about myself and where I'm going. I've learned about my ambitions and my emotions. I've learned to grow and I've gained an amazing amount of life skills I should have gained from my family, which is another issue I've had my whole life that I won't get into.
Going back home was jarring. I felt as little and powerless and insignificant as I had before. I didn't feel smart or able. I just wanted to ignore everyone and be ignored, like before. I felt worthless and wantless. I missed the house and my old room. I miss what it used to stand for and I miss members of my family, but I don't think I could ever be myself around them. I don't think I can be home and be me.
It's not to say that they treat me terribly, at least not anymore. Maybe that's why, though. Maybe I can only see them for how I grew up with them. I know they've all changed, I know I've changed.
I'm afraid, I guess. I'm afraid of what my family will think of me. I'm afraid that they won't understand and all the effort I could possibly put into repairing my relationship with them will go to waste. I just don't know if it's better to waste the time or not put any time into it at all.