Home?

I don't have a home.
I've had a home, but that was a long time ago.
Home is a place that is supposed to make you feel safe.
Where I live; it's a place that is full of anger, screaming, crying, pain, and hate.
I'm constantly reminded of all the tears I've shed, as well as memories that I've made.
I still don't consider it home.
They say that "home is where the heart is."
In that case, I don't feel like I have a heart anymore.
Maybe that's why I've felt so lost and empty.
When I'm in my room, my supposed "safe place," I'm constantly scared and on guard.
I know what's on the other side of that door, and I don't like it.
Open, close, open, close.
That's all a door does.
It let's in my fears, but it doesn't keep them out.
My only way of escaping and finding my true home is when I go to sleep.
But my fears seem to follow me in my dreams, and I can't get away!
There are few days when I have normal dreams, not good dreams, just tolerable ones.
Sleep is the closest thing to death, and that's where I believe home is.