But here I am. Despite my best efforts I am proving invincible and I am tired of it. This suicide attempt, I went to treatment, I had a consequence, my life has actually changed. My home is gone. I was so damn homesick in rehab (to the point where I couldn't move anymore without force, I couldn't think, I wasn't really breathing just being I don't know how to explain it. I was depressed. I was pushed down. I was under heavy water.) but now I'm out of rehab and family and find myself still homesick. I am displaced.
Home is my bed and my cats and my boyfriend and having a kitchen and a choice in what to do with my hours. Home is school and naps and the smell of my laundry. Home is cleaning the little box and filling the food bowl and the weak water pressure of the shower. Home is refilling the ice trays. Home is sharing pillows with Johnny. Home is having lunch with Johnny between classes. I ruined home. I set fire to home. I tore my own home apart with my stupid ten fingers. Now we're moving out and I can't live with my cats and I have to put my things in boxes and my god I've never felt so lost and homeless.