The Girl From Nowhere

Curtis gives me a hard time for the fact that I call Brampton home. Like “I’m going home to see my friends”. Today I had the realization that it’s really not home anymore. I’ve gone to the wrong place twice when my friend Jenn has invited me somewhere so I knew I was out of touch, but I didn’t realize how much Brampton had changed. Since I haven’t been here, I did not change with it. Brampton isn’t home any more. 

This was the sign up in my doctor’s office today. You know you live in a small town when this shocks you. 


What the what?? So if I’m not from here, where am I from? Mitchell is where I live but I have only a few friends there. It’s getting better, but how long will I even live there if things continue as they are? London isn’t home… I feel lost. Without roots. Again.

I’m sitting in one of my favourite childhood spots, reading a book on how to help my relationship with Curtis and crying. Crying for the girl who sat here and the choices she made. Fighting an anxiety attack. My ex-husband first gave me flowers at the library over there and we all know how that went. What happened to the girl from here? 


I put my head in my hands and I feel my hat, Reegan’s ‘A Champs’ hat from his tournament and I smile for a moment. Reegan and I have a special bond. I love all 3 boys but Reegan is the one who really seems to want the time with me. He’s a special little guy, the one who reminds me most of why I love Curtis so much. They’re all like him, but Reegan has that same spirit that I love. 


I know I have a lot of choices to make, and soon, and, although there’s progress, I’m scared. I’m so scared of making a bad choice and messing it all up (so much so I’m afraid the fear will make me mess it up, anyway). One thing is for sure, I will never be the girl who sat on this rock when I was mad at my parents, reading and listening to the Beatles. I long for her problems. I long for the ability to hide from them for a little while. But I wouldn’t trade a moment with my little family to go back. 

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