Home Is Where the Bodies Are

by Jeneva Rose

“You have your whole life to date, Nicole. Don’t rush growing up because you can’t go backward, only forward,”

With Beth being a junior, there’s only one more last day of school with all three of them together. And eventually, there won’t be any more last school days. I know my children’s futures are bright, but I want to live in the now—even if it is dimly lit, and we’re barely scraping by. Because I know now is guaranteed, but tomorrow may never come.

Glimpsing at the past feels unnatural as though we’re not supposed to be able to. It’s like looking in a mirror, but I’m not the other person staring back. That version of myself no longer exists.

“Guilt can eat you slowly or swallow you whole.”

I think that people dislike something for one of two reasons: we truly dislike it, or we dislike it because it gives us an opportunity to value something else more. And when you don’t have much in life, there isn’t much you’re able to detest before you run out of things to, well, detest.

“Just because you’re a parent doesn’t mean you can’t do bad things. Ted Bundy had a daughter and so did the BTK killer. I’m sure their children told themselves, But he’s our dad. He could never . . . Anyone can do anything at any time,”

This is one of those situations where there isn’t a right or wrong answer. You just have to pick one and convince yourself later that it was the best decision at that time.

But I know the worst things always happen in an instant, and once you’ve experienced it, you’ll forever be on the lookout, bracing yourself for it to happen again. It’s both a blessing and a curse because it forces you to live in the moment while also fearing the next.

“Feeling dead while your body still walks this earth is far worse than being dead.”

“It’s the not knowing that kills me. A mixture of hope and grief is toxic, like combining ammonia and bleach. On their own, you can stand it at least for a little while, but together, it’s deadly.”

I read about crying once, when I couldn’t stop after Dad left. I wanted to know why it happens or what the point of it is. What I learned is that no one knows for sure. One theory is that it tells others we’re in pain, triggering a human connection. Emotional tears are thicker, fatty sacks of protein. They fall slowly, clinging to our cheeks, declaring to those around us that we need help, that we cannot cope on our own. And I think that’s where I’m at. It’s where I’ve been for a very long time—stuck, unable to endure, to persist, to live.

You can know a person your whole life but never really know them. Because they only have to show you what they want you to see.

You don’t believe in monsters until you’re living with one . . . and even then, you don’t believe until you’re looking in the mirror, realizing you’ve become one of them.

Why’d she even write them down to begin with? Perhaps it was cathartic to tell someone her story, even if it was just a blank page. I can understand that. There are many truths that I have written only for myself. Because some stories aren’t meant to be shared.

Addiction is like having your arm in a vise. You can’t loosen the grip. You can’t pull away. You just have to learn to live with it.

Honestly, I don’t think there are any good parts in any town. Some areas just hide their indiscretions better.

They say the truth will set you free, but they don’t tell you it can set you free in the same way death does.

But then again, grief is like an airport. There are no rules or social norms. You just do what you gotta do to pass the time until you reach your next destination.

People don’t use their last breaths on worthless words.

When you have nothing, you have everything to prove.

he said the less I knew, the better. I don’t believe it, and I don’t think I can live with a half-truth. A half-truth is just a whole lie.

It’s always the least interesting people that have the most to say, like their existence would cease if they didn’t speak of it.

Depends. I don’t like to talk a lot most of the time but I like to listen to people who talks a lot. Sure, there are annoying people but I still like to listen to listen to their way of thinking, even the most infuriating, evil or stupid ones. Idk thy are interesting in a weird way.

before all this happened, no one in this town paid me any mind. I thought that was unbearable, feeling invisible, like I don’t matter. But now I know that being detested is far worse than going unnoticed.”

Not totally invisible, but being just enough invisible is kind of a skill.

The moments that change us forever always feel recent, because we carry them with us whether we want to or not.

Resentment only poisons the person who consumes it, not the one it’s intended for.

“It feels like both yesterday and a lifetime ago.” Lucas tilts his head. “It’s funny how time works. They say it’s linear but sometimes it feels like it’s happening all at once. Ya know?”

You’re not the child I wanted, but you’re the one I deserved. –Regretfully, your mother

I’ve learned there’s a lot of things you can bury, but the past isn’t one of them.

Loss is a shared experience, and it’s why we give to others when they are going through it. Casseroles, money, flowers, even a break.

Moments that change us don’t play by the rules of time. They’re everywhere all at once.

They say the love you have for a child is unconditional. I don’t believe that anymore. There are conditions.

Sometimes we do the wrong thing for all the right reasons.

I spent my whole life being nervous up until I realized that life happens in between the beats of our own heart, and if it thumps too fast, there’s no space for us to live.

“Anger is easy, Rebecca. It’s the most rudimentary of human feelings. Babies experience anger. Psychopaths experience anger. People with little to no brain activity experience anger. But compassion and forgiveness are challenging. They’re the most complex of all the emotions. So, no . . . I’m not angry with them.”

“‘The best stories come from those that are flawed, broken, really. Those who have endured trials and tribulations. Those who have faced the world and come out on the bottom. Only they can tell stories worth listening to, for they have had more than one beginning, more than one middle they’ve dragged themselves through, and more than one ending . . . and despite it all, their story continues.