Sometimes when rn contemplating what happens after I die I fantasize being back in my childhood home and for a moment that seems all nice and familiar then bang! I'm hit with the reality of that not being such a nice place to be.

Instead I'm filled with dread and a feeling that I would need my adult self to be with the child me if that were to happen.

The adult me would say ask all the things to my Foster family that the child me couldn't. Which leaves me sad knowing there still wouldn't be the love I yearned for from the adults. But at least I'd be on my own side.

Dioes anyone else have thoughts like this regarding their abusive childhoods? There's something upsetting unyet comforting too in it all.