One thing that living away from my parents has taught me is that I can, and am allowed, to be weak.

There is no one to tell me not to cry.

No one to remind me that help isn’t supposed to come.

No one to reprimand me for asking for help.

No one to reinforce in me the need to mask my feelings.

No one to call me psychopath when I let my inner pain and confusion overflow.

Isn’t that the way it should have been?