Home is a loaded term.It's hard to go somewhere as a refuge, a retreat, when it is full of ghosts. Memories you thought were buried rear up to choke you. For the first time I experienced the direct path between anger and depression, the way that old anger freshly pricked leads to shutting yourself down because you can't shout out.
And it's strange when the rest of them go on unaware that anything happened, as if nothing was said, perhaps because it scarcely was.
But why does she think I'm capable when I can't get up before 2, sit around half the time like a zombie? Zombie = lazy, thought she'd have known better by now but it slips out, 5 days and it's there again and maybe I should go back. Somewhere else. But no where's home.
