The House That Built Me

I heard this song last night on the way home and it struck a nerve:
I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here it's like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself.
If I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

You leave home, you move on and you do the best you can.
I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am.
Two weeks ago today I came 'home' from that house after one of the worst weekends I've ever had. I decided to surprise my parents and do some work in a couple of rooms, covering up paneling and painting the kitchen cabinets. I was a little ambitious with the amount of time I had, but I also thought I would have much more help than I did.
In planning the project, I didn't realize my brother was dealing with so much stuff in his own life he wouldn't be able to help. And I'm stubborn so I tried as hard as I could to finish what I started as I watched time run out and my patience completely disappear. We will be going back in 2 weeks to finish the job and at that point I will feel better about this situation.
In the meantime, I can't get over the thought of that house being sold to someone, or not being taken care of. Especially once we got started and realized just how much work the house needed.
I remember the day we moved in. I remember taking first day of school pictures in the breakfast nook with our lunch boxes and puff-painted shirts. I remember Christmases with toys all over the fireplace and spread out to either side. I remember begging Dad to watch us run through the sprinkler in the front yard, and begging him to watch us jump from the window seat in the front room, to the table below, then onto the floor to music. Playing dress up and my brother wearing that Tina Turner wig. Filming Sloth World News in the backyard. Running away with a blanket and a book and climbing the tree in the front yard; then getting bored and going back inside.
It's where Dad and Connie got married, where I learned about wearing makeup. It's where I used Nair because I was too afraid to shave. It's just up the street from Liz, a few streets away from Donna. It's where we got our first pets, where Tigger is buried. It's where Granny used to babysit us and we'd try to sneak out when she took a nap. It's where we would sleep with her in the huge guest bed and she would tell us stories as we fell asleep.
It's where Liz and I filmed parts of our world-famous video. Where Liz and Donna and I did tae-bo in high school and made muffins as a snack afterwards. It's where I got in trouble for letting my boyfriend come over when my parents weren't home. It's where I know I can always go and have a place to stay, a place to be myself, my bossy, goofy, crazy self and I don't have to worry about how I'm coming across.
Fortunately it's not just the house that carries those feelings, it's my girlfriends, and my family, and my brother. And it's hard for me to open up to people who haven't known me as long. But I hope that I'm getting better at it.