And so history repeats itself...

Last night I yelled, I screamed, I cried.

I found myself sitting on my mum's laundry floor, sobbing into my lap. I was angry. So. Freaking. Angry. I never wanted to look at that face again. I wanted to run. Run away and never come back. I wanted to be shipped off to another land where the world it perfect. I was so angry. Almost exactly like before.

It was like the day I left my mother. I was angry, crying. Packing up my things. But this time it was different. I sat on the cold tile floor, as before, but this time something was different. The person hovering over me, wiping my tears, hugging me was my mum. And my father, hovering outside the front door, was the one I was angry at.

And so history repeats itself...

After many tears, my mother's comforting hand, and persuading words, I finally spoke to him, forgave him (although I'm not sure how long that will last) and went home. Without my mother, I would have made another mistake. One day, I'm going to have no where left to go.