Not going back

My younger sister sent me an email the other day of a real estate listing. Seems our childhood home is up for sale and she wants to see if they're planning an open house or if she can schedule a walk-through. She wants to revisit the house we lived in up until I was 11 years old.

I emailed her back and told her there is no way I could set foot in that house. I have far too many negative memories of that place and fear that going anywhere near there would only trigger a painful breakdown. I didn't go into any details because as far as I know, she doesn't really know most of them.

That is the house in which I endured most of the physical, mental and emotional abuse at the hands of my mother. That is the house in which I endured years of sexual abuse. That is the house where I believe my mental illnesses developed and began to take hold of my life.

Being so young while we lived there, she was spared from most of the abuse our mother dished out. My older sister and I bore the brunt of it primarily because we had the misfortune of being born female. As for the sexual abuse, I don't think either of my sisters went through that since most predators pick an easy victim. My emotional fragility made me the ideal target so I was the chosen one.

I looked through the photos in the listing and the house looks entirely different from when we lived there, both inside and out. But I know that walking through that front door, stepping into each of those rooms, would bring back a flood of memories I'd rather not relive. I'm not going back.