You know when you have to do those stupid icebreaker games? There’re the ones that make you introduce yourself and a “fun” fact. Or the ones that require you to guess if people are lying or telling the truth. Or, if the group is feeling particularly risqué, the ones where you have to ask a boring question to one of the strangers sitting across from you.

If I’m honest, though, I like that last one. Mainly because, more often than not, I’ll get to answer my favorite question. When somebody turns to me and halfheartedly asks “where would you go if you could go anywhere in the world?”, I feel a burst of giddiness. I always take a breath, hide my excitement (nobody normal likes ice breakers), and answer with one simple sentence: I would wanna be in my bedroom.

Okay, so maybe that’s a stupid answer! But it’s true. If I’m lucky, someone might even ask me about my room. Then I can tell them about why it’s the best place in the world. The short answer is that it’s my safe space. Comfy. Warm. Inviting. That’s usually what I tell people.

The long answer though…it’s so much more than just those things. It’s a place to hide from the world. It’s a place where I can be myself, wholeheartedly, without judgement. It’s like if you took the feeling of hot chocolate on a winter morning or a book on a rainy day and you just made it into a room. You know what I mean?

A part of it too, if I’m being honest, has to do with my mental health. I tend to be a people-pleaser. I’d rather die than have someone be mad at me. But, my bedroom is only for one person: me. It’s mine. I don’t have to compromise or move furniture or throw something out because someone else wants me to. If I want to change it, I can. But I don’t have to. I can leave it as-is for as long as I want. That sort of freedom…it means a lot to me.

Today, however, my room doesn’t look like a safe space. My bed isn’t made, my clothes are all over the floor, my chair is against a wall, and my ex-boyfriend’s body lies on the floor. Not to mention, his brains are splattered all over my carpet.

Now, thanks to my ex, this room looks tainted. If you were to look at my room right now, you’d only see the body. You wouldn’t be able to see how this room protected me! How the door helped keep my ex out when he was angry. How the closet doubled as a hiding spot during the nighttime. How the chair was the perfect weapon when I had enough.

So, yeah, I know it looks bad. I promise you though, my room isn’t just a scene of blood and gore. It’s still my room, remember? Comfy. Warm. Inviting. A safe space.