A home thats not a home, a room thats hardly a sanctuary, A door thats never really closed.
A bedroom is a teenagers sanctuary. It is the place to get away form parents and from the rest of the world. My bedroom is my private area, a place i can be comfortable, alone, and truely become myself. The house the I live in is not my house nor has it ever been, there is no comfort in the confines of the structure but only in my bedroom. The house belongs to my stepfather, everything in it open and plain, not homey or welcoming at all. But my bedroom is marked by me, by the mess I have created and by my own comforting touches. Its the only place where I want to be.
The door to my room is important. It allows the entry of my family and others. When its open they can come in( even though I wish they didn’t), When closed it means they can come in if they ask and when I let them. But a locked door means no entry, stay out and away. Why doesnt my family follow the simple rules everyone knows? To them Its like I dont have a door. They disturb me and my sanctuary anytime they please. I keep my door locked at all times but that doesn’t stop them from twisting the the lock and opening the door. They never ask for entry, always barging in for no reason at all, even when I tell them they are not welcome. The more they do this the less my room feels like my security. When getting home, I find my door creaked open and things missing that will never be seen again.
My mom is always wondering why I never come downstairs to eat with them or to see them. Who would when you can’t feel comfortable in your “own home”. My room is barily an escape. So i leave as often as I can to hang out at friends homes that I wish where my own.
I bet you’re wandering what the point of all this is? Nothing really. Just an angry blog about my door. The passage way to me and my bedroom. Never closed when it should be, when I want it to be, only when others want it to be. Always forced open.
All I need is an actual lock for my door.