I don't want to go home.

I just don't want to go home.

You see, it's feeling less and less like home. I feel like an intruder to as place that I don't recognise any more. Home, the family home, isn't where I want to be any more. I can't wait to escape, and fly the nest.

It'll happen soon, but it can't happens soon enough.

My family has changed. Really changed. I can't recognise the family any more. The memories of my Mum are driving me mad. I'm almost claustophobic with grief when I go home. I feel her presence. She's there at all times, yet I turn around and she's not there.

There's a new person at home. Someone who I don't recognise, someone who I don't particularly like, someone who is just differnt from the last person. I don't want to do the same things as we did before.

I can't move on.

We're supposed to be having a barbecue at the weekend. Dad, my Sis, my Sis's boyfriend and Dad's girlfriend. I don't wish to attend. I won't attend. Yet, it is my home. The place where I'll be welcome to join and eat. I want to be as far away as possible from the joviality. This isn't normal behaviour is it?

I need to start again. A new place, a new me. It'll be worth it won't it?

For the time being, I'll continue avoiding any sort of family occasion.