The Prisoner.

As a kid, I felt my home was a prison, and I saw my parents as, my Jailers. A bus picked me up, took me to school, and brought me back home at a particular time. No visitors allowed, leaving the house was not permitted, unless told to do so, and so many other crazy rules that governed the prison, that my home was. Sure, there's a level of distinction between those circumstances and the ones faced at a penitentiary, but that kid didn't know that.

I grew up and finished serving my sentence, and so I moved out. I got an apartment and was supposedly free from my Jailers, or so I thought. The circumstances had changed, but sadly, the individual had not. I could do anything I wanted, but I found out that, I had made rules for myself, that I couldn't break. I could go anywhere I wanted, but I had set boundaries around myself, that I couldn't cross. Anyone could come visiting, but I didn't want anyone coming around.

Things went on this way in my obliviousness, until reality struck me like me a lightning bolt. I never really stopped being a prisoner, there was just a change in formation. I became my new Jailer, and my apartment became my new Cell.

Our dilemma is that, we hate change, and love it at the same time. What we really want is for things to remain the same, but get better.