Or never had in the first place.

My parents divorced when I was five and their next attempts to find love didn't pan out either. Mom divorced her second husband after only a few years because he didn't know how to control his anger and was becoming abusive. Dad's second marriage ended back in April when his wife of twelve years committed suicide.

In between all that I had to move around a lot. My grandma's house, my dad's house, my mom's house...sometimez it was voluntary, sometimes it wasnt. I have good memorues of all those places, of family and friends and good times...but...there were always just a little more bad than there was good, it seemed. Abused by two different step parents, one physically, the other emotionally, my biological parents seemingly oblivious to how their choices affected me and my little brother...and now I have my own place, practically alone, with naught but a retail job to my name.

When I look back on my life I can't remember one year where I wasn't in fear of having to move somewhere else, having to get used to living with new people, or moving away from people I liked or loved. I feel like there are walls between me and people I should have had deeper relationships with.

I don't think I ever had a home, just a long series of places where I used to exist for short periods of time. I wish that weren't true.