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Forgive me if this is scattered and vague. As you can imagine there is some level of anonymity that I'd like to maintain by sharing this information discreetly; but in my desire to speak honestly about my life and testimony I offer you this post.

A few weeks ago I took a trip home to the small town in Northwest Wisconsin that raised me for half of my life. It's a place with more bars than churches and more people on the wrong side of the tracks than the right; it's run down, falling apart, and still one of the most beautiful places to be. It's a shame that I didn't capture any of those images except in my memory. My hometown is a   bittersweet  place for me because it represents a very dark time in my life. I was surrounded by a deepening, maddening depression that intruded on my sanity and joy. It's a time in my life that I associate with abuse, fear, poverty, drama, and something that goes beyond the normal coming-of-age identity crisis. In all honesty,   leaving was the best thing for  me and as an adult returning to the town that I was removed from has been something that I struggle with.

See, when I was a freshman the courts decided to send me to live with my grandparents. I was given 2 hours to pack all of my things and be ready to move. I wasn't allowed to say good bye to anyone, not even my little brother. There was also a "no contact" issue involved for my protection that prevented me from all ties to that part of my life. The experience has had a profound impact on my emotional development in the last 6 years and even now I am incredibly particular about closure and goodbyes. Leaving (or rather, disappearing) so abruptly left too much to the imagination of not only myself but also my friends in my "old" life. They didn't know if I had ran away, been taken away to either juvie, a girls home, or psych hospital, or if I had perhaps even killed myself (yeah, I was in a really dark place). The fear that life in my home town wouldn't function without me was paralyzing and not knowing what people thought of me was an obsessing thought that motivated me through the remaining years of high school.

After turning 18 and heading off to college I was finally free to pursue the loose-ends that were left from my relocation. I friended nearly everyone I could think of and was a slave to my "where are they now?" attitude; I rekindled some connections that were better left in disrepair. I went back home for the first time in 4 years in October 2009. I'm not sure if that first weekend set the pattern for ever following visit, or if perhaps there is a deeper something going on that causes me to freak out; either way I have never made it there and back without regrets. The first time was giving away my precious gift of purity. Which led me to become the other woman in another relationship and the death of dear friend. Last weekend, over 2 years since my first visit, the trend of irresponsible behaviour continued. I played the game and lead on a friend (who's more like family) then went beyond drunk and betrayed his trust by going with another fella. Ironically, this all happened on my ex's 9 month sober-versary.

I keep hoping this time will be different but when it comes to that small town, I always lose control.

I'm less than proud of my actions and am walking a fine line between shame and humility for fact that I live such a double life. It's been a week and I'm still processing through everything. I am trying to understand why this always happens. What little bits of wisdom I have come to realize are these:

1. I have to be responsible for myself at all times because:
• people are unreliable (that's just the way it is) and
• it's not their job to babysit me, even if I ask them to.
2. Drinking responsibly is more fun than blacking out portions of the night and making decisions that you regret for far longer than the time it took to make them.
3. I don't understand how anyone there can respect me when I have no self-respect. 

Well, that's that.