About a year and a half ago I moved from the home and area in which I grew up.

I have not returned since, and my lifestyle has changed dramatically to become more conformative, more normal.

Sometimes I get the chance to look back into my previous lifestyle. Back into my childhood. Back to perfection. And it kills me. It kills me to know I gave that up. It kills me to know I will never be that person again. It kills me to know that I will never be able to return to that life, that child, that viewpoint. It kills me to know that I am not that person, and I am not home.

All those feelings, all those thoughts. Lost forever, lost in my mind and memory. It kills me to remember. It kills me each time I take a step away.

And even though my life is on track and I am proud of where I am now, it hurts so much to know who I have become, to know who I am not.

It hurts so much to remember my life, my childhood, my dreams, my memories.

Have you any idea, the pain of remembering?