Visiting home earlier this month was hard. Ever since I moved away, I have been feeling a slow severance from the place that raised me. If the last decade has been a slow stretching away, this last visit was the snap when the rope gave way. I have read about this shift. For some people, it is immediate. For others, it drags on and on. I call Montana "home" now as a sort of respect for the elder that raised me, but it hasn't truly been home for a long time now. Twelve years. Twelve years as of this week that I have been away, uprooted...re-rooted. Transplanted. 

And I love my city. I don't think of myself as a city person. But I am also not a country person. I'm a "grow where you are planted" person. I had plans to leave Portland after graduation...but then I didn't. I stayed and stayed and 4 years of college suddenly turned into 12 years with no plans to leave. Portland is a city of contradictions. Maybe every city is. I don't know. But my contradictions agree with Portland's contradictions and this is the city, the place, the home where I feel most myself. Portland made room for me at several critical points in my life when I wasn't sure where I belonged or who I wanted to be. It is a city of contradictions, conflict, and maybe even chaos. But it is mine and I am Portland's.

I would be nicer if it made me feel better. 

But it doesn't.

Being nice is what got me into this mess and it definitely is not going to make the way out. 

The truth is that I would burn down every world if it kept the abuse cycle from starting over. 

I know you are waiting for my fire to burn out before you approach me, but I should tell you that you will be waiting for a long, long time. 

I would be nicer if that kept me safe. 

I would be nicer if I wanted to. 

But I don't. Not now and probably never again. I don't even recognize the girl who used to think being nice and patient and communicating politely would solve all of the problems. And there is part of me that wishes the hurt never happened and that I could still be her.

However, anger is better than despair. 

I've learned that sometimes anger is what keeps you alive. 

I would rather be alive than nice.