Small Town USA
Justin Moore. It's a good song. You should listen and you'll understand it's relevance a little later in the post.
I hope you've realized by now that I may or may not be telling you everything. I know, shocking. Someone can withhold the truth on a blog? Let's just say this blog is more than I have told most people in my life. Yes, you may not get all of the information, especially since I have a keen eye for keeping the topic within the depressing part of my life. However, that is up to me. You have no say in what you hear or what you don't. You also continue to read despite that fact. So, by all means, continue.
There isn't a whole lot left for me to tell you at this point. Perhaps, I can begin with my...unconventional title of this collaboration of the bullshit I call my life. When I was 15, I moved from my lifelong home in Powell, Ohio. I left a majority of my family, all of my friends, and every part of this country I actually knew. I had to pick up and move to a small owned called Newberg, Oregon. Imagine if someone forced you to pick up and put yourself into Pawnee, Indiana (from Parks and Recreation) except with more drugs and a lot more run down (at least most of it). That is what Newberg is like. People who have never left the state in their life. People who live in the house their great great grandfather built. It is a town absorbed in its roots. Everyone knows everyone, and clicks and friend groups were created and sustained since kindergarten. I moved when I was 15. Starting my sophomore year of high school. It was hell for me. For weeks I had no one to sit with at lunch (I ended up sitting in the bathroom on the phone with my best friend from Ohio everyday, crying my eyes out). I would come home from school and just cry. It's not that people weren't decent; it just all seemed so fake. Superficial. I didn't meet the people I still talk to from high school until my senior year, and none of us even really talked until after graduation. Those first two years were a blur. It didn't feel real. How could this be my life?
Honestly, it sometimes feels the same as it did then. I don't really feel like I belong here. Although, I never really felt that I fit in there either. That is, until I left. Every time I go back, I feel like I'm home.
I hope you've realized by now that I may or may not be telling you everything. I know, shocking. Someone can withhold the truth on a blog? Let's just say this blog is more than I have told most people in my life. Yes, you may not get all of the information, especially since I have a keen eye for keeping the topic within the depressing part of my life. However, that is up to me. You have no say in what you hear or what you don't. You also continue to read despite that fact. So, by all means, continue.
There isn't a whole lot left for me to tell you at this point. Perhaps, I can begin with my...unconventional title of this collaboration of the bullshit I call my life. When I was 15, I moved from my lifelong home in Powell, Ohio. I left a majority of my family, all of my friends, and every part of this country I actually knew. I had to pick up and move to a small owned called Newberg, Oregon. Imagine if someone forced you to pick up and put yourself into Pawnee, Indiana (from Parks and Recreation) except with more drugs and a lot more run down (at least most of it). That is what Newberg is like. People who have never left the state in their life. People who live in the house their great great grandfather built. It is a town absorbed in its roots. Everyone knows everyone, and clicks and friend groups were created and sustained since kindergarten. I moved when I was 15. Starting my sophomore year of high school. It was hell for me. For weeks I had no one to sit with at lunch (I ended up sitting in the bathroom on the phone with my best friend from Ohio everyday, crying my eyes out). I would come home from school and just cry. It's not that people weren't decent; it just all seemed so fake. Superficial. I didn't meet the people I still talk to from high school until my senior year, and none of us even really talked until after graduation. Those first two years were a blur. It didn't feel real. How could this be my life?
Honestly, it sometimes feels the same as it did then. I don't really feel like I belong here. Although, I never really felt that I fit in there either. That is, until I left. Every time I go back, I feel like I'm home.
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