Aging.

I was eight years old when they put me away and I stopped growing. Then it was 2002. That makes me sixteen in life experience, although I have packed a lot in. Living in house full of passionate and articulate siblings and guests broadcasting their intimate thoughts and fantasies and emotional states. Our house is so wild and rambling and even I don't know everyone, every now and then a guest will arrive who fits in well or seems to, and it takes years to realise they didn't actually come with anyone. Sometimes they don't even know where they're from or that they are a guest, and have just assumed someone's room to be theirs. All fine until a return event, when a lot of "But that is MY room." goes on and doors are slammed. We're more careful about that now, but we are beginning to realise a few things. One thing, this house we live in, we did not build.

We are not the first people to live here. We did not make it.