I can't say that I would not be afraid to enter this place, but strangely enough I can't help but to feel compassion for a place that reminds me of what I once called home. Its a common sight in Mexico to see an abandoned warehouse with its roof broken from years and years of acid rain corroding it little by little. Houses used to be made like this in some of the slums in Mexico, not made to last but to protect if only for a few years; and some families were just fine with this, after all we never knew there was better things out there and that the way we lived seemed impoverished by other standards. It all seems strange to me, to think I would have grown to love the place I once wanted to leave so  fast. I guess I can relate to Dorothy, no matter what you have endured through, there is no place like home.