Cleaning my room is no simple feat. If there's one thing my mother never managed to hammer into me, it's her extreme cleanliness and need for everything to be in it's place. Hacking through the jungle of clothes, school books, CDs, and more requires patience and determination. For two hours I went at it, until the only thing left was under my bed. I reached under, and pulled out my old companion, my worn, pink duffle bag. I unzipped it to see it was ready to go at any moment, as always...
Nobody knows of my love/hate relationship with this bag. The bag has been packed with two sets of clothes, a toothbrush, hairbrush, and pair of sneakers for two years. It always stays close to me, just in case. You see, I hate this bag. It carried me back and forth from my parent's houses, as I pleaded not to go, not knowing how to handle my illusion of the perfect father I had being shattered in a a matter of moments. It carried me to and from their houses when they were both sick of me and played hot potato with their eldest child. At age fourteen, having your parents hand you off like they're in a relay race is not only exhausting, it's heartbreaking.
Finally, I had decided to live with my best friend, my daddy. The duffle bag, along with many other crates and garbage bags, sat in the back of my mom's car as we both silently cried our way over to Dad's, knowing our relationship would never be the same. I threw the duffle bag under the bed of an empty room, my room, where I thought I would be until I graduated...
Fast forward three moths later, into my war zone of a home. The bag sat beside me as I sat on my floor, quivering in fear. The bag was slung over my shoulder when i would slide out my window into he night, when his words were too much. That bag flew up against walls, along with my body. I clutched it as I sat in the passenger seat of my best friend's car, as she begged me to tell her what was going on.
Obviously, my Father, my daddy, my best friend no longer wanted me, so he threw me at relatives. Aunts and Uncles, Grandparents, cousins, his friends. He would do just about anything to keep me out of my home. He eventually grew so tired of me that he gave up his parenting rights, and left his baby girl without a place to call home.
I believe in God, and I believe in his miracles. After months of despair, I received mine. A family who truly wants me, without any catch. I have never felt more at peace or more at home... but most importantly, I have never felt so loved.
I went down to my knees clutching the bag, and in the middle of my freshly cleaned room, I began to cry. I cried for my Dad, my Mom, My beautiful brother and sister, I cried for the little girl in me who misses her mommy and daddy more than anything in the world, I cried for the part of me that will never believe I am worth anything, I cried for my past. Kneeling on my rug, I began to feel that wave of depression swell over me, until I heard a different noise. I heard laughter. I listened, and could hear the kids upstairs laughing, my guardians talking to each other. I could picture it. I realized, I had a choice. I could sink back into the depths, or I could rise above the surface of the water and start to breathe again.
Without even realizing it, I began unpacking. Shoes by my bed, clothes in my drawers, toothbrush in it's holder and hairbrush on my dresser. I stared into the empty bag, and instead of feeling absolute panic, I felt utter relief. The flattened bag went under my bed, and that's where it will stay. I wiped my eyes and headed upstairs with a smile, knowing I was rising to the surface to be with the ones who loved me the most. I am now in love with my beaten up duffle bag, because despite the war we went through, it finally brought me to the one place I needed to be... it brought me home.