People have always tried to find a place where they feel a sense of belonging. A place where they feel welcomed, safe, comfortable, and that can be the definition of a home. For me, my childhood always consisted of many problems at school and at home as well. I’d say I didn’t realize it at first and tried to ignore my feeling of being unwelcomed and unsafe everywhere I went.

I was born in Massachusetts. Around the age of four years I moved to North Carolina with my parents. I don't remember much about Massachusetts, in fact I don't remember much about North Carolina either. I only remember stories or details that my mom would tell me, like the story of me being prayed for. She told me how as a baby I had a cyst that was pretty huge and my parents didn’t have the money to get it removed surgically. So they took me to a church and from there I was prayed for and blessed by old ladies and somehow the cyst disappeared off my body as if it was never there.

When I looked at photos of me as a kid, I wished I could have stayed as a kid. I don't know why, but I looked happy. That kid didn't have stress. I don't have many memories, no memories of stress. But, I don't like looking back and thinking about that time. That kid didn’t feel like me and I could never imagine I was ever that kid.

Soon after we moved to North Carolina my dad ended up leaving us. After this, we had to live in a homeless shelter for a little bit of time. I don’t have any memories of the shelter, but my mom told me a story: It was my birthday and she couldn’t get me what I wanted because we couldn’t afford it. I don’t know why I don’t remember anything from the shelter, but I think I chose to forget it. I think I didn’t want to deal with having all those hard memories. Luckily my grandparents came down to North Carolina after a few weeks and flew us back over to Massachusetts to live with my grandma.

I think from that moment when I moved back to Massachusetts, I lost the sense of what a home felt like. While I love my grandma, living with her didn’t feel like “My” home, but more like someone else's home. I would close myself off in my room and play a game on my Xbox called “Fortnite.” I would play video games all day. I would play the games to get out of reality because I felt like I was  “bothersome” to everybody. I considered myself a problem to people and I felt bad for not being able to help them with anything even though they helped me with everything. It felt like me just being a thing was just me getting in the way of what people wanted.

In middle school I started making friends, but soon after it turned out they just liked to use me for bullying and entertainment. From there I lost trust in most people. It was not until  high school that I met new people and made new friends who I felt I could trust. I was right, they were trustworthy, but since I had so many issues with trust, we did end up in fights a lot. We had many fights and would argue a lot, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t learn from each other and even if we stopped talking for a little they would always welcome me back with open arms. They gave me a place to belong, a home, and they made me realize I’m not a bothersome person, but rather a kind and useful one.

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