Unfortunately, I've had to basically train myself to not get really sentimental over anything, since I've learned from lifelong experience that nothing is ours forever, and the more sentimentality you have tied to something, the more it hurts to lose it or have to let go - and believe me, there are certain places I've lived that I've really loved, so to have to move out of them and move somewhere else that wasn't as pleasant was certainly a depressing experience to say the least . . . I can remember hating one house we lived in so much, that any chance to get out of the house (school, church, a trip to the grocery store, going out to eat, running errands, anything of the sort), I would jump at the chance, and any time either of my parents would say it was time to go home, I'd actually think in the back of my mind please no, I don't want to go home.
And the thing of it is, this was actually a really nice house, I won't lie: nice spacious living room, a huge kitchen you could actually move around in, a screened-in back porch, my parents' room was huge and their master bath had a walk-in shower and even a big bath tub . . . but then the bedrooms on the opposite side of the house were so ridiculously tiny, I had almost no space to walk in my room, and I basically had to split my bedroom into two just to fit my furniture and such somewhere. On top of that, it was in one of those kinds of subdivisions you see depicted in OVER THE HEDGE, where there's hundreds of houses that look the same, all just inches apart, giving off that really uninviting and impersonal feeling . . . and the subdivision was kind of tucked away from much of the rest of town, so it really felt like living in an isolation bubble.
Ironically, I was actually finally starting to get used and adjusted to the place when we ended up having to move out again, but still, when that happened, I genuinely considered it a blessing in disguise.